


Take Your Breath Away

by thecheekydragon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Facial, Hand Jobs, Knotting, Light Bondage, Locker Room Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mating, POV Alternating, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, lack of preparation, lip/tongue teasing, perverse_bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecheekydragon/pseuds/thecheekydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn’t need Scott to tell him who their new English Lit teacher was.  He knew it was Derek Hale.  He also knew Derek Hale was <i>hot</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Your Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Perverse Bang 2013](http://perverse-bang.livejournal.com).
> 
> Title taken from ‘Possession’ by Sarah McLachlan.

“Dude, that’s Derek Hale,” Scott hissed from the desk behind him.

Stiles let his eyes roll. Really, like he needed Scott to tell him this. Stiles knew _exactly_ who their new English Lit teacher was. Because a) the man had introduced himself when they had all first settled in, and b) Stiles was a guy who _knew_ things, unlike his best friend who was clueless about 99 percent of the time.

For instance, he knew Derek Hale and his sister were back in Beacon Hills after a ten year absence. They had spent the last decade in New York trying to put the past behind them, a past that included losing their entire family in a house fire. Derek had been about sixteen at the time - Stiles’ age – and his sister just a few years older. After a brief period of grieving and question-dodging, Laura Hale had packed up what was left of their belongings and had dragged her younger brother Derek across the country for a new life. No one in Beacon Hills had ever thought the Hale siblings would return. Yet, here they were with Derek Hale as Stiles’ new English teacher.

Stiles also knew something else. Derek Hale was _hot_. Not just good-looking. But make your dick stand to attention and your ovaries explode _gorgeous_. 

He was sure it had something to do with the jeans and leather jacket (The man wore a leather jacket. To school. That he hadn’t bothered to take off yet. Even though he was technically teaching.) that accentuated a muscular frame and a tight ass. Stiles had only caught a glimpse of said ass when Hale had first come in, but his attention was now diverted to the man’s ‘package’ as he leaned casually against the desk at the front, arms folded and boot-clad ankles crossed. Based on what he could see, Stiles would have to say that the front view was just as impressive as the back.

And if the tight jeans, leather jacket and black boots weren’t enough to project a clear bad boy image, there was also the artful sex hair, mystic green (no, hazel) eyes, hint of stubble and practiced brooding to ensure there was no mistaking Derek Hale was anything but the baddest of boys. 

Yeah. Stiles was definitely in love. And from the looks of things around him, three-quarters of his classmates had fallen too.

He ignored the kick to his calf Scott delivered in favour of focusing on their new teacher’s face. Specifically his lips. Which were saying something, although Stiles had no idea what. Because those lips were highly distracting. And Hale’s voice? Like musical sex, floating in the air around him, enticing him to divulge his deepest and most intimate secrets.

Stiles had no secrets but, hey, how about a fantasy? One that involved Hale bending Stiles over one of the desks and—

“Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles jerked himself out of his fantasy to find Hale looming next to him, his eyebrow (fuck, even the man’s brows were sexy) quirked in question. 

Stiles gaped as he dragged his gaze from the leather belt currently at eye-level (very sturdy-looking, he assessed, and would definitely be a challenge to unbuckle but Stiles thought he was up to it) to Hale’s face, deliberately by-passing the sculpted abs and perfect pecs (okay, so he snuck a quick peek) under the tautly stretched Henley.

“We’re talking about the last book we read,” Hale prompted. “Your turn.”

“Uh...Shades of Gray?” Stiles answered (he did not squeak) and his classmates tittered. 

Hale’s mouth spread into a grin. God, he had nice lips, Stiles thought. 

“Interesting,” he commented then moved onto Scott. “Mr. McCall?”

Stiles didn’t even hear what Scott answered (if it was anything but The Walking Dead comic book series, Scott was a _liar_ ) because he was too busy checking out Hale’s ass (yeah, it was tight) while it was in close proximity.

“So how smokin’ hot is our new English teacher?” Erica remarked gleefully as they settled around their usual table for lunch.

“Sizzling,” Allison agreed and Stiles caught the green glow of jealousy coming off Scott in waves. Although Scott had progressed considerably since last year, Stile’s best friend was still working on asking Allison out. Part of it had to do with Scott being shy and, well, a _dork_ , while the other part had to do with Allison being their high school principal’s only daughter. Victoria Argent was one scary mother (yes, pun very much intended).

“Definitely takes the pain away of having to look at you losers all day,” Lydia said loftily.

“Hey,” Stiles protested. “Danny here is a very attractive guy.”

Danny laughed, grinning at Stiles. Beside him, Jackson huffed which made Stiles, Isaac and Boyd all laugh. Scott continued to pout.

“Saw you checking out Hale’s package,” Jackson said with a smirk, taking a bite of his apple.

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah? Who wasn’t?”

Danny flushed and Erica giggled.

Jackson nodded his head toward the cafeteria entrance where Derek Hale had just come in. Apparently the new teacher had gotten stuck with first lunch duty.

“Wonder what his deal is,” Jackson mused around his apple. “Shows up back in town after – what – like ten years or something?”

“It’s not a crime to return home,” Stiles told him. What was a crime, however, was to look _that_ good in leather. He was pretty sure Erica, Allison and Danny thought so too with the way they were staring at the man, who was now making his way around the cafeteria, chatting idly with students. He’d be coming around to their table soon, Stiles thought in panic. He hoped he didn’t have anything stuck in his teeth. Just to be on the safe side, he grabbed Erica’s hand and flicked one of her claw-like fingernails between his fronts.

“Eww,” Erica said, snatching her hand back then scraping her nails across Stiles’ plaid shirt. “What is wrong with you?”

Stiles was about to provide her with a rather lengthy list when Hale approached their table.

“So I guess it’s true that teenagers travel in packs,” he commented, gesturing at the group gathered at the table, which consisted of Stiles, Scott, Allison, Erica, Lydia, Jackson, Danny, Isaac and Boyd – all of whom were also in Hale’s morning English Lit class.

Stiles licked his lips. “Just like wolves,” he returned cheekily. He shuffled his chair to put a foot’s distance between himself and Erica because – well, no reason really. He ran his tongue absently over his teeth, worrying it between the middle two, hoping to dislodge whatever food stuff he was sure had settled there.

Hale raised those impressive eyebrows. “Indeed,” he replied (and, really, could Stiles be blamed if his geek mind went a second to thinking of Teal’c from the Stargate SG-1 series? He had ADHD. Sue him.). It must have been Stiles’ imagination because he thought Hale’s gaze seemed to linger on him for a moment before he pulled it away to return it to the group at large. “Well, enjoy your lunch,” he said in parting.

When he was gone, Jackson leaned forward and said with all the glee of a gossip girl, “You know, they say it was his fault his whole family burned in that fire.”

Erica threw her empty milk carton at him (well, mostly empty since some droplets of milk splashed onto the front of Jackson’s shirt, causing him to scowl) while Lydia scolded, “Jackson!”

Stiles had, like everyone else, heard the rumours. That sixteen year old Derek had somehow been responsible for whatever had set the Hale mansion ablaze ten years ago. Stiles had been too young then to know what had happened. His dad, though, had been a deputy at the time and had been to the scene of the fire and had later been involved in questioning the surviving Hale siblings, Laura and Derek. Still, Stiles’ dad had really never talked about it beyond what a tragedy it had been. 

Stiles couldn’t imagine how Derek could have possibly been involved in a fire that killed his entire family, except for his older sister who had been away at college. Derek Hale may have been a “bad boy” in Stiles’ mind fantasies, but that didn’t mean he thought Hale was actually a _bad_ boy. Like in the fire-setting, kill-your-family, criminal kind of way. (He would, however, admit to thinking bad boy in the leather, chains and whips kind of way, to be perfectly honest.)

Later, however, when he caught Hale looking at him as Stiles made his way across the cafeteria after the bell had rung, Stiles thought he might want to reassess a few things. Because Stiles’ new English teacher may have been bad boy hot, but the whole staring thing? Just a little creepy.

Derek was fucking doomed.

He had really thought he was past falling for - no, _lusting after_ \- people who were all kinds of inappropriate. Kate had been inappropriate. And deadly, as it turned out. But nothing was as inappropriately inappropriate as lusting after a sixteen year old who also happened to be a student in your class. 

It didn’t matter that his wolf had immediately clawed to the surface upon setting sights on the Stilinski kid, practically screaming: _Fill! Fuck! Possess!_ Derek was a full-fledged high school teacher now. He was a professional. He was also back in his hometown of Beacon Hills, where people had not forgotten who he was or his tragic past. Lusting after teenagers was not only inappropriate but dangerous.

And there was no doubt Stiles Stilinski was inappropriate. Very inappropriate. And dangerous. Not just because the kid was sixteen and one of Derek’s students. Or because Derek was desperately trying to stay under the radar, especially with the Argent family now making roots in Beacon Hills and Victoria Argent as the goddamn principal of Beacon Hills High.

No, Stiles was inappropriate for a lot of other reasons. Not the least of which was that the boy was positively sinful. With those long lashes and golden brown eyes. Those luscious pink lips (Derek was more into literature than poetry but he would write fucking sonnets about those lips) that were absolutely made for sucking cock. And _Jesus Christ_ , that tongue. Derek was sure it was a nervous habit the way Stiles seemed to constantly dart his tongue out and lick over his lips. But, fuck, it made Derek want to bend the kid over the nearest desk and—

“So, Mr. Hale, how was your first week?” Victoria Argent asked, startling him.

Derek had been sitting outside of the principal’s office the past fifteen minutes waiting for Argent to return (her secretary had said the principal was ‘checking up’ on some matter and Derek refused to think what kind of matter would need checking up on only one week into the start of the new school year).

Principal Argent waved Derek into her office. He entered obediently, taking a seat in a chair on the ‘guest’ side of her neatly organized desk while Argent took up point on the ‘authority figure’ side. Victoria Argent rested her elbows on the surface of the desk, steepled hands in front of her.

“So?” she prodded, arching a perfectly shaped brow. Derek could appreciate that she was an attractive woman, if slightly intimidating.

“It was fine,” he told her, making a concerted effort to relax his naturally tense body so as not to give Argent reason to think she was successfully intimidating him. Derek could not afford to show any signs of weakness. “Seem like a good group of kids,” he said. “Enthusiastic and motivated.” There were the duds, of course, but he didn’t need to tell Argent that.

The principal nodded, leaning back into her plush executive chair. “Allison seems to like you,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. Derek wondered if this was her default defensive tone or if she was being particularly cautious talking about her own daughter.

“Allison is a smart young woman with a bright future,” Derek replied. They both knew he wasn’t just talking about the girl’s academic abilities or prospects.

“Yes, she is,” Victoria Argent said. She kept her gaze fixed on Derek, as though she was contemplating him. Then she said, “In addition to teaching your classes, Derek (and switching to his first name now instead of ‘Mr. Hale’ was a strategic tactic, Derek knew), I would like you to assist Finstock in coaching the lacrosse team.” When Derek raised an eyebrow, she added, “I understand you were a pretty good player when you were a student here.”

Derek kept his gaze carefully guarded as he met her coolly scrutinizing one. He was no fool. Victoria Argent knew his past, knew the role her sister-in-law had played in it. He figured the only reason her family wasn’t hunting down and obliterating his werewolf ass was that Argent believed having him close would keep him sufficiently under control. And she was right, for the most part.

“Sure, I was a decent player,” he told her. “But my uncle – Peter – he was a real star.”

Dropping Peter’s name was deliberate, of course. A tactic, much like the ones Argent was using in the game she was playing. Derek had no problem playing along. He certainly had no problem reminding Argent that, even though his uncle was in long-term care under a psychosomatic coma, he was still a powerful member of the Hale pack.

Argent nodded, apparently to concede and Derek thought he saw the gleam go out in her eyes, suggesting that she had gotten the message. Good.

“Very well then,” Victoria Argent said. “Report to Coach Finstock tomorrow afternoon to assist with practice.”

She dropped her gaze to the tray of folders on her desk and Derek took that as a cue that he was being dismissed.

“Listen up,” Coach Finstock was saying. “I’m pleased to announced that Hale here,” he nodded at the t-shirt and sweatpants clad teacher standing beside him, “will be helping me whip your asses into shape so we can get a shot at taking state championships again this year.”

Derek Hale surveyed the group of teens assembled in the locker room, his gaze falling and seeming to rest on Stiles for a fraction of a second.

Fuck his life, Stiles thought. It was bad enough that he had to endure Hale’s sexiness during English class every morning. Now the man was going to be assist-coaching lacrosse? In fucking track pants and a t-shirt that showed every beautiful bulging muscle on Hale’s body? How was that even fair?

The complete unfairness of it all extended beyond this, of course. To the fact that Stiles was second line on the team. And by second line, he meant warming the bench most of the time. In fact, the only time Stiles saw field action was when three-quarters of the first line had been knocked out and there were no other second liners Finstock could play. Coach usually thought of Stiles as the team’s ‘water boy’, the one who cheered for his best friend on first line (and Danny and Isaac and Boyd and sometimes even Jackson). Which was all fine and dandy. Stiles was more than happy to park his ass on the bench and dole out water to his first line friends if it meant winning games.

But now _Hale_ was going to be exposed to what a failboat Stiles was at lacrosse and that was more than a little embarrassing. Because, of course, Derek Hale would be ace at playing. All sex gods were.

Fuck.

Out on the field, Finstock blew his whistle to gather the players then turned to Derek and said, “Hale – work with Bilinski.”

“You mean _Stilinski_?”

Finstock gave him a sharp look. “Yeah, sure.”

Great, Derek thought, giving Stiles – who appeared to be focused on toeing a tuff of grass on the field with his shoe – a surreptitious sidelong glance. Yeah, this was exactly what Derek wanted – to work one-on-one with the boy who taunted and teased him to no end with that fucking mouth of his. Thank ever-loving fuck that Stiles had head gear on, which would at least minimize Derek’s visual of those plump pink lips and that sinfully tantalizing tongue. Because there would be no hiding his arousal in these track pants.

Derek drew Stiles away from the others to the edge of the pitch. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “Show me what you got, kid.” 

He had Stiles run some drills so Derek could assess his speed and agility as well as his skill at catching, cradling and passing. He wasn’t surprised to find that Stiles was all gangly limbs and awkwardness nor was he surprised that it somehow was necessary for Stiles’ tongue to dart out and lick his lips while he focused on performing the tasks (as it turned out, the cage did nothing to hide the darts and licks and twice Derek had to think of his old neighbour Mrs. Shultz in her threadbare bathrobe to keep his dick from rising).

“Okay,” Derek said as Stiles jogged up to him, his breath coming out in short puffs (and really, Derek did not find that arousing at all).

“Yeah,” Stiles said, resigned and obviously embarrassed. “I suck.”

“You got the basics,” Derek told him, ignoring Stiles’ choice of words because, really, he only had so much control. “Pretty good hand-eye coordination too. But--” The look on Stiles’ face told Derek the kid was used to hearing the inevitable ‘but’. “But,” Derek continued, “you have a lot of unfocused energy that I think, if you learn to channel it, will turn you into a pretty decent player.”

“Really?” expressed Stiles, his eyes going wide. Derek was sure Stiles had never once heard Coach Finstock say he had potential.

“Yeah, really,” Derek said. “Now run the drills again and try to focus all that energy into the plays.”

 _And for the love of God, stop teasing me with that damn tongue_ , he added silently, as Stiles took off to re-run the first drill.

Yeah. Derek was totally fucked.

“How’d your session with Hale go?” Scott asked on their way out of the locker room. It seemed to Stiles that Scott sounded a little sour about it so he gave him a look that said ‘What the fuck, dude?’ Really, what did Scott have to be sour about? He was a first line player with actual skills and wasn’t exactly the type to be interested in hot guys, even if they were Derek Hale, so it wasn’t like he was jealous that Stiles got to spend time with him.

Scott frowned. “Sorry, dude,” he said. “It’s just that Allison’s always going on and on about him. How good-looking he is. How smart he is.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s like she’s smitten with him or something.”

“ _Smitten >_?” Stiles repeated, blinking. “Dude, no one says ‘smitten’ anymore. What century are you in? Come on, buddy, hop along into the twenty-first one.”

Scott huffed. “Okay, so she’s googly-eyed in love with him then,” he amended. His lip quirked up in a smirk. “Kinda the way you are.”

Stiles gasped, stopping abruptly in the middle of the hallway. “What? Pfft, I’m not googly-eyed in love with Derek Hale.”

“Yeah, you are,” Scott said with a chuckle, yanking Stiles by the hoodie sleeve to pull him along. “And believe me, I don’t care a thing about that. But Allison--”

“Is waiting for you to ask her out, dumbass,” Stiles told him. Really at the pace Scott was going, he and Allison would hook up in like _never_.

Scott blushed. “I don’t know if she really likes me like that, dude.”

“Oh my God, Scott,” Stiles said, exasperated. “She likes you like that. You just have to _be a man_ and _ask her out_.”

“Yeah but her mom...” Scott said, his voice dropping low.

“Is scary as shit, dude, I know,” Stiles finished.

Scott let out a less than manly squawk and it took Stiles a moment to realize it was because Principal Argent had suddenly appeared in the hallway and was coming toward them.

“Mr. Stilinski, Mr. McCall,” the principal acknowledged in her clipped tone. “I trust you boys are on your way home now that practice is over.” She gave them each a scrutinizing glare, a look that clearly communicated she thought they were total slackers.

Scott gulped and replied, “Um, yes, ma’am” as Stiles gave her a dutiful salute.

She let them pass and they continued down the hall. When they were a relatively safe distance away, Stiles leaned into Scott and whispered, “Scary as shit, dude.”

Things continued along in much the same manner over the next couple of weeks, with Derek working with Stiles – whom, he had come to understand, was treated by Finstock and the rest of the team as kind of the ‘water boy’ or ‘mascot’ – during practice, while occasionally taking lead in running the drills for all the players. Most of his time during practice, however, was spent with Stiles, which meant Derek had to deal with the boy’s tongue and lips show usually twice a day – during class in the morning and at practice in the afternoon. This did nothing to curb Derek’s sexual frustration and made his wolf downright hungry. It was a dangerous combination.

It was especially dangerous when the moon was near its full phase. Derek had learned to control his wolf side long ago, and he was able to control the shift even during a full moon. But his senses tended to be heightened during this time, which meant that his reactions were also heightened, and Derek needed to take special care to keep himself anchored. Which was pretty fucking hard to do when Stiles was around, darting out that sinful tongue and licking those made-for-cocksucking lips.

(Already, twice during this week Derek had had to send Stiles to the office with some ‘paperwork’ because the kid’s tongue had been so distracting that Derek thought he’d go out of his effing mind.)

And the thing of it was, Derek wasn’t entirely sure that Stiles was not doing it on purpose, just to torment him.

Stiles was at his locker, grabbing his chemistry textbook when Hale suddenly appeared, leaning up against the locker beside him. He gave Stiles a penetrating look then leaned in towards him, keeping his voice low. “Stop.”

What? Stiles was startled enough that it took a couple of beats before he asked, confused, “Stop what?”

“You know what,” Hale said.

No, Stiles really didn’t. He opened his mouth to retort as much but Scott had now ambled up to the lockers and was fiddling with his combination lock.

Hale caught Stiles’ eye and gave him a look of silent warning. He pushed off from the lockers and started to move down the hall, saying loudly over his shoulder, “Detention, Stilinski. Thirty minutes after last class before practice.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Detention?”

Stiles shrugged. “Guess I wasn’t paying enough attention in class this morning,” he told Scott. Which was mostly true anyway. It was hard to pay attention to the actual lesson when your teacher was Derek Hale who just so happened to be a fucking sex god.

Scott gave him a concerned look. “He knows about your ADHD, right? I mean, it would be a real asshole thing to do to give you detention because of that.”

“Yeah, yeah, he knows,” Stiles said, slamming his locker shut. He assumed Hale knew. It was in Stiles’ student file, along with all the other important information teachers were supposed to know. It wasn’t as though Hale was giving him detention because of that. Or at least Stiles didn’t think so. Actually, he had no idea why Hale had just given him detention (or what Hale had meant when he had told Stiles to ‘stop’. Stop what?). Not that Stiles really minded having to spend thirty minutes with his English teacher one-on-one (and, man, didn’t that conjure up a whole bunch of not-safe-for-school images). Besides, even if not paying attention in class was the reason, Stiles knew he couldn’t blame it on his ADHD.

Scott bumped his shoulder against Stiles. “We better get moving,” he said, “before you catch another detention with Harris.”

Stiles nodded, quickly following Scott. Harris was _not_ someone Stiles wanted to spend even one fucking minute outside of class with.

For the first ten minutes, Derek just watched him – stealthily, of course, from under his eyelashes while he pretended to review some papers – wanting to see what Stiles would do. Derek was convinced Stiles was purposely teasing him – with the darts of his tongue and the licking of his lips – working Derek up every day in class that he almost had to excuse himself before something embarrassing happened. Never mind that it brought his wolf to the surface, completely _wanting_.

But watching him now, Derek wasn’t so sure that the kid was doing it on purpose. It seemed to Derek that maybe Stiles’ oral show was just something he did naturally, not something he did with the intent to drive Derek wild.  
Derek was surprised that Stiles, who was known to be a bit of a constant rambler, had remained relatively quiet since his detention had begun (with the exception of the noises being produced by Stiles sucking on the end of his pen while he studiously did homework – and fuck, those noises were positively obscene). He hadn’t even questioned why Derek had given him detention – he had just taken a seat, had cracked open a textbook, and had started doing homework. Derek wondered how long it would take before Stiles asked him about the other thing – about what Derek had said to him in the hall.

It turned out, he only had to wait another three minutes. 

“So,” Stiles said, plucking a highlighter cap from his mouth (and, really, did it require his tongue to move around like that?). “What is it I’m supposed to stop doing?”

Stiles was aiming for just-casually-asking, Derek could tell, but he could hear the kid’s heartbeat picking up, belying some nervousness, some anxiety.

Derek raised his head and looked at him. “Just so, you know,” Stiles added, his cheeks starting to pink, “I can, uh, stop doing it. Whatever it is. So it doesn’t, like, annoy you anymore?”

“It doesn’t annoy me,” Derek said flatly.

The kid’s eyebrows shot up. 

“It drives me freaking _insane_ ,” Derek told him.

Stiles winced. “That bad, huh?”

Derek quickly realized that Stiles had taken his comment the wrong way. “No, Stiles. It’s not bad – well, it _is_ ,” he admitted, “but not in the way you mean.” He fixed Stiles with a long, assessing look. Then he said, “You have no idea what you do to me, do you? With that tongue and those lips. God, that mouth...”

Stiles blinked at him, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. 

Okay, now that just made Derek want to shove something in there. Fuck. He flexed his fingers slowly, trying to keep the wolf at bay, grasping to gain some measure of control.

“I thought you were doing it on purpose,” he said, keeping his gaze on the kid’s face, still assessing. “To tease me.” He watched Stiles’ eyes go wide. “But I realize it’s just a thing you do.”

Stiles shifted in his seat. His expression was slightly incredulous, as if what Derek had just told him was too incredible to believe. “You--You thought I was teasing you?” he said finally.

“Yes.”

“Because the things I do with my mouth – totally non-teasing, by the way – gets you, like, worked up? _Aroused_?” 

“ _Yes_.” And fuck if the kid wasn’t darting his tongue out and licking over his bottom lip right now. He was going to kill Derek with that mouth.

“Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_.” 

Stiles let a half minute of silence tick by before offering, “Um, sorry?”

The beginning flush on Stiles’ face was now full-blown and Derek wondered how much more of this he was going to be able to take. He looked at the clock. It was close enough to the thirty minute mark, as far as he was concerned, especially given the circumstances (which may have involved his dick growing half-hard and wasn’t he ever thankful the desk hid that from Stiles’ view). “Go,” he told Stiles, his voice rough. “Go to practice.” He waved a hand at the door. “Tell Finstock I’ll be there shortly.” 

Stiles gave a sharp nod, quickly packed up his books, and bolted from the classroom.

When he was gone, Derek ran a hand through his hair and blew out a sigh, resisting the urge to bang his head on the desk. What the hell had possessed him to tell Stiles that the things he did with his mouth drove Derek crazy? Was he trying to get himself fired? Because that’s what was going to happen if he kept lusting over the teenager like this. The kid wasn’t doing it intentionally and, even if he was, Derek was the adult here, the one who should be able to keep it together, to exercise a little self-control. Even if Stiles made it really, really hard to do so.

Finstock was going to have to wait for him for a few minutes, he decided. At least long enough for Derek to will his erection away and to get himself back under control. Because he damn well couldn’t waltz into a locker room full of hormonally-charged teenage boys with the very grown-up hard on he had right now.

Fuck.

Stiles flew down the hall to deposit his books in his locker and then headed toward the locker room for practice, his mind whirling as he went.

_Did Derek Hale just admit that he got turned on by the things Stiles did with his mouth?_

“How was detention?” Scott asked when Stiles appeared beside him, pulling out his jersey, shorts and cleats from his bag.

“Um....” Stiles faltered, not really knowing what he should say. “ _Weird_?”

Scott scrunched his brows at him. “Weird? Like how?”

Stiles shrugged. How could he explain to his best friend that the teacher he was crushing on had basically told him he got _aroused_ by _Stiles_? Really, were there words for that sort of thing? “Just weird,” he settled on. “I’ll tell you later.” 

“I got a shift at the animal clinic after practice,” Scott said.

“Later later then.” That was fine with Stiles. It would give him more time to come up with something that didn’t sound as far-fetched as the idea that Derek Hale was apparently hot for him.

“Where’s Hale?” Coach Finstock boomed from behind them.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles said, turning toward the coach. “I was supposed to tell you he’s on his way.”

“I’m here,” Hale said from across the locker room. 

Stiles turned his head toward the voice, to where Derek Hale was standing in front of a locker, already pulling up and off his shirt to change into his practice sweats. Hale was usually already dressed for practice when Stiles and the rest of the team got to the locker room so this was something new, to see his teacher changing in front of him. And - oh boy. Stiles’ eyes were immediately drawn to the tattoo on Hale’s back – a set of three interconnecting spirals – and to the tight sculpted muscles of his shoulders. Fuck, he was even more beautiful than Stiles had imagined. Hale pulled on a black long-sleeved t-shirt then started shucking his jeans—

“ _Oh_ my God,” Stiles said, turning abruptly, grabbing his helmet and then yanking Scott by his jersey toward the door. He needed to get out there. Now. Before he popped an embarrassing boner for all the world to see. 

It was probably the first time ever that he and Scott were on the field before any of their teammates or Coach Finstock had even made it out the back door.

“I want you to work with him on checking today,” Coach Finstock was telling Hale, gesturing at Stiles – or _Bilinski_ as the Coach often called him (Stiles had stopped correcting him a while ago but he thought it was sweet that Hale made the attempt on his behalf. Sweet, of course, in a non-teasing, non-crushing kind of way.) “Stick and body checks,” Coach explained further, completing unnecessarily. “Focus on body checks. Toughen the kid up. I want you to really _ram him_ , Hale. _Ram him hard_.”

Stiles was sure the pained look on Hale’s face mirrored his own. He almost wanted to apologize but it wasn’t Stiles’ fault the coach’s enthusiasm for body checking sounded much like he was directing a porno.

“Okay,” Stiles said when Finstock ambled off to yell vaguely obscene things at Stiles’ teammates. “Can we maybe start with stick checking?” he asked. “Because I’m not sure I’m ready for, uh, _ramming_ yet.”

Hale gave him a look and, oh God, Stiles was blushing, wasn’t he? The assistant coach inclined his head slightly, which Stiles took to mean he was agreeing to start with his stick (And was everything in lacrosse borderline erotic? More importantly, why hadn’t Stiles noticed this before?)

They spent ten minutes on stick checking, which Stiles was actually pretty good at – in fact, it could totally be his thing if he ever got to play – and might have spent a few minutes more if Coach Finstock wasn’t making gestures at them that Stiles could only assume meant he wanted Hale to switch it up to body checking. (And, holy God, was it necessary for Coach to gyrate his hips like that? Even Stiles knew _that_ wasn’t necessary to properly execute a hip check.)

Hale rolled his eyes – actually rolled his eyes, to Stiles’ amusement – and was that a freaking blush spreading across his cheekbones? Stiles thought it was. And, God, it was adorable. And sexy. And really, really hot.

“Ready?” Hale asked, bringing Stiles’ attention back around.

Stiles gulped. “No,” he said, perfectly honest, and Hale grinned.

“Let’s first go through some basics,” he said. “Then we’ll go through a series of checks. I’ll try to keep it light so you don’t have to wear head gear.”

Stiles resisted the urge to say ‘So, no ramming then?’ because he didn’t think he’d make it through that one without possibly (probably) coming in his shorts.

As promised, Hale went through the basics, demonstrating to Stiles the most common body checks used in lacrosse play, tapping various parts of his body – forearms, elbows, shoulders, hips – lightly against Stiles. It was all above-board and almost clinical the way Hale executed the moves but it still made Stiles’ hormonally-charged teenaged body respond in a way that was embarrassingly wanton. His heart was hammering and his face was flushed, which had nothing to do with the low level of physical exertion he was putting out now.

“Alright,” said Hale. “That’s the basics. So now check me (thank God, he didn’t say ‘ram me’ or Stiles would have been done) and let me see what you got.”

Body checking Derek Hale was like hitting his body against a brick wall. The man was all hard muscle. Planting his forearm into Hale’s abs-of-steel nearly knocked Stiles on his ass and when he dug his shoulder into the other man’s to try to force him off-balance, all Stiles managed to do was wrench his rotator cuff without succeeding in moving Hale’s body even a speck.

“Ow, you’re hard,” Stiles said, rubbing at his shoulder. He blushed at his choice of words. Really, there were much better ways of putting Hale’s hard-muscled body to use than as a target for Stiles to practice body checking. (At the top of his list was tracing that spiral tattoo he had seen on Hale’s back with his tongue.)

“So what’s the deal with the back tattoo?” Stiles asked because, as usual, his brain-to-mouth filter was somewhere off on vacation.

Hale’s eyes flicked up from Stiles’ mouth (yeah, Stiles had noticed Hale staring at his mouth since they’d hit the field for practice) to his eyes. “I’ve had it since I was about your age,” Hale said, his words sounding carefully measured. It was no doubt a subtle reminder that Stiles was currently at an age Hale _used_ to be many years ago. “It’s a triskelion.”

“What’s it mean?” Yep. Filter still on vaca.

“It’s a symbol of strength and unity,” Hale told him. “Laura – my sister – has a smaller one like mine on the inside of her wrist. Everyone in my family has – _had_ – the same tattoo marking.” He darted his gaze away. “It’s a family thing.”

Stiles nodded. “It’s cool,” he said, feeling oddly warmed that Derek Hale had just shared rare details about his dead family with Stiles.

“Thanks,” Hale mumbled in response.

They continued working rather intensely on perfecting Stiles’ body checking skills and didn’t even notice when the rest of the team and Coach Finstock packed it in, leaving the two of them alone on the field.

“Wow,” Stiles said, looking around the empty field. “Guess it’s true time flies when you’re having fun.” Hale cocked a brow at him. “Not that body checking you is _fun_ ,” he amended, feeling the heat starting to rise in his cheeks. “I mean, it’s not _not_ fun, it’s just--” He licked his lips nervously, noticing the way Hale fixed on and tracked the movement of his tongue. “Wow. Okay. I’m just gonna go and take my clothes off now,” Stiles continued, jerking his thumb in the direction of the school. Fuck. “ _Change_ out of my clothes now, I mean. Into other ones. The ones I had on earlier.” Stiles’ tongue darted out again and he quickly pulled it back in, grimacing. “Oh God.”

Hale stared at him for a moment but said nothing. He started packing up the gear that was left, so Stiles grabbed his stick and helmet and made a quick getaway to the locker room.

Stiles had only just removed his pads when he heard Hale come in. He considered for a moment how it would probably be best for him to take his clothes into one of the restroom stalls around the corner because there was no way he’d survive changing in front of Derek Hale, especially if Hale was going to be taking his clothes off, when a strong hand came down on his shoulder, turning Stiles around roughly.

Stiles barely had time to register the look of pure want in Hale’s hazel-green eyes before he slammed Stiles up against the lockers and covered Stiles’ mouth with his own. It was enough to take his breath away as Stiles tried to process the fact that _Derek Hale_ was _kissing_ him. And not just kissing him kissing him. But _really_ kissing him. All hot lips and wet tongue. 

“You make me crazy,” Hale whispered raggedly, his mouth at Stiles’ ear. He ran his tongue along the outer shell then nipped at the lobe.

Stiles felt his knees buckling and he clutched at the front of Hale’s shirt to keep himself from sliding to the floor. It was a good thing too because Hale’s mouth was now on his neck, planting soft open-mouthed kisses.

“Stiles…” he moaned, sucking on the tender flesh of Stiles’ neck and then grating his teeth over the sucked-wet patch of skin, gently biting.

Oh. God.

Hale’s hands were on his hips now, fingers tugging at the waistband of Stiles’ shorts. In one swift movement, his shorts were yanked down along with his boxers, and then Hale was dropping to his knees on the floor, settling in between Stiles’ thighs. He flicked his tongue at the tip to lick, to taste, looking up at Stiles, his eyes dark and heavy with lust. Then he took Stiles’ dick in his mouth, screwing it down to swallow him deeply, down to the base.

Holy. Fucking. Hell. 

Hale licked, sucked and swallowed and Stiles lost all ability to think. The only thing his mind could grasp was that he was pants down in the locker room of his high school being blown by his new English teacher. Who happened to be Derek freaking Hale.

Having his cock sucked like this was the most incredible thing Stiles had ever experienced (he’d only been kissed twice, okay?) and he wanted the feeling of it to last fucking forever.

But he was sixteen and had never had anyone’s mouth on his cock before, so it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Stiles to hit his peak. And when he did, his head fell back with a clang against the lockers, his hips jerked and thrust forward, and without any kind of warning, Stiles simply _exploded_ into Hale’s mouth. 

Hale didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he swallowed eagerly, licking Stiles clean, even as Stiles’ legs finally gave out and he slid to floor.

Stiles rested the back of his head against the lockers, his eyes closed, his breathing erratic as he slowly came down from the high of the incredible orgasm, an orgasm that had been wrung out of him by another person and not his own hand.

Freaking. Awesome.

“You okay, kid?” Hale asked and Stiles peeked open his eyes to see Hale now standing, looking down at him. There was amusement there but something else too.

Because of their relative positions, there was no mistaking the sizeable bulge that was Hale’s erection poking against the fabric of his sweatpants. Instinctively, Stiles reached out to touch it, but Hale caught his wrist and directed his hand away.

“Get changed and go home, Stiles,” he said abruptly. He moved to the locker at the end of the row, took out his clothes and leather jacket, and was gone from the locker room before Stiles could even find his voice to respond.

Stiles had to sit there for another three minutes before he trusted his legs to work so he could stand and change out of his lacrosse gear.

Derek was out the school, in his car, and driving before Stiles had probably even been able to pick himself up off the floor of the locker room.

He drove at least a mile outside of town toward his house before he pulled into a wooded area, put the Camaro in park (not even bothering to turn off the engine), shoved his hand down his sweatpants and jerked himself off – hard and fast.

It was probably the quickest he’d ever come. Not that it was surprising with his thoughts focused on Stiles – his mouth, his tongue, his cock. Derek could still taste Stiles on his tongue and the thought of what he had done to the boy and the look on Stiles’ face sent ripples of pleasure coursing through his body as he spilled hot and messy over his fist.

With his unsoiled hand, Derek plucked some napkins from the centre console and quickly wiped the mess up. He put the car in drive and sped off, hoping to beat Laura home so he could take a long, scorching shower and be able to contemplate his fucked up life.

And, really, what was there to contemplate? Because this thing with Stiles wasn’t going to lead Derek anywhere except straight to fucking hell.

Scott blinked at him, his mouth hanging open.

“What?”

“Like I said, really weird, huh?” Stiles remarked with a huffed laugh, valiantly trying to pass it off as no big deal because he was starting to feel a little self-conscious with the way Scott was gaping at him.

“Dude, weird is some random telling you that you have big ears or ugly teeth, not your teacher telling you he’s hot for you then _blowing you_ in the locker room at school. That’s not weird, that’s--”

“Fucking _awesome_?” Stiles suggested hopefully.

Scott tilted his head. “Okay, yeah,” he conceded. “But I was going to say it’s a little bit incredible and a whole lot irresponsible. On his part,” Scott quickly clarified when Stiles shot him a look. “I mean, he’s a _teacher_. At our high school. Where Allison’s mom is the principal. You know she’d cut off Hale’s balls in a second if she knew--”

“Oh man, Argent can’t find out,” Stiles expressed with real honest-to-god fear now. “I need Hale to keep his balls at least until I can work up the courage to give him a reciprocating blow job.”

Scott clamped both hands over his ears.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Come on, dude. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Scott was his best friend. Wasn’t he kind of obligated to be as excited (and not in the freaked out kind of way) about this as Stiles was? 

“You won’t think that if your dad finds out.”

Stiles shuddered. “Please don’t bring up my dad when we’re talking about Hale’s balls.”

“We’re not talking about _anyone’s_ balls,” Scott said, his face scrunching in that ‘I’m slightly squicked but I really want to be supportive’ way that Stiles always found adorable. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So how’s Allison?” Stiles asked, changing the topic to something more geared to his best friend’s interests than Stiles’ awesomely amazing locker room blow job.

“I’m going to ask her to the dance,” Scott told him.

“Good. Great,” Stiles encouraged. He fixed Scott with a look and said, “You better do it.” So many times Scott had teased Stiles with the promise of asking Allison out and then had failed to man up. 

“I will,” Scott said, bobbing his head. “I mean, I am. Going to do it.”

Stiles could only wait and see. In the meantime, he’d go back to thinking about Derek Hale’s lips wrapped around his cock.

Stiles had anticipated the awkwardness that would come Monday after the whole Derek-Hale-on-his-knees-sucking-Stiles’-cock-in-the-locker-room thing but he was really not prepared for the way Hale practically _ignored_ him. He didn’t call on Stiles in class, like he usually did - not even _once_ \- and he completely bypassed Stiles in favour of his classmates, playing it off as though he hadn’t seen Stiles raise his hand in answer to his questions.

Stiles wasn’t fooled. He was, however, majorly pissed. 

At lunch, Scott tried to get him to talk about it (if Scott had noticed Hale’s outright ignoring of Stiles then it had to have been pretty damn obvious because Scott was, like, the most clueless guy ever) but Stiles shrugged him off, nodding conspicuously at Allison, encouraging Scott to get on with asking her to the dance. (Stiles knew if he didn’t poke and prod, Scott would find a million excuses to get out of it. Stiles had ten years of Scott-experience to know this.)

Ten minutes into lunch, Scott turned to Stiles, a dopey expression on his face. “She said yes,” he mouthed like he couldn’t actually believe it. 

Stiles rolled his eyes but grinned and gave him a double thumbs up. At least Scott and Allison were finally happening. 

He was about to lose a third thumb wrestling match to Erica (she was a mean competitor with wicked thumbs) when he noticed Derek Hale standing against the far wall of the cafeteria, watching him.

Okay. This had to stop. Stiles was totally on board with the getting physical through blow jobs and whatnot with his English teacher, but this creepy stalker-like staring thing Hale was doing? Not so much. It was time to set a few things straight.

He grabbed his tray and got up from the lunch table then made his way toward Hale, throwing out his trash and stacking the tray along his way. Hale saw him coming and pushed off from the wall, making for the exit. Stiles quickly followed.

Hale was waiting for him in the hallway. He looked at Stiles, glanced around, then pulled Stiles toward a door that was marked with a janitor’s sign. Hale yanked the door open and pushed Stiles inside, closing the door quietly behind them.

“What the fuck, dude?” was the first thing out of Stiles’ mouth. He wasn’t sure if that was because Derek Hale had just shoved him into a supply closet – which, by the way, was pitch dark and smelled like cleaner– or if it was to express how he felt at being completely ignored by the man earlier.

“Watch your language,” Hale said, his mouth close. Too close. “And I’m Derek, not dude.”

Okay. Was _Derek_ really going to admonish Stiles about using _swear words_ when the man had just pulled him into a dark janitor’s closet in the middle of first lunch like a creepy pervert (so what if it turned Stiles on)? And, oh yeah, had _blown him and his mind in the locker room_ last Friday?

Stiles would have responded but Derek’s lips had found his and he was kissing Stiles now like Stiles’ mouth was the answer to the Ultimate Question. Which it wasn’t. The answer was forty-two. (It was hard to concentrate when Derek Hale was kissing him, okay?) 

“Sooo,” Stiles said when Derek’s mouth moved from his lips to neck. “I guess this means I’m still making you crazy?” He tried not to sound too relieved that his effect on Derek Hale apparently hadn’t waned any.

“Insane,” Derek breathed against his neck. 

“So you ignoring me in class this morning, that was...?” 

“I can’t fucking concentrate with you around,” Derek told him, returning to his lips and nipping at Stiles’ bottom one.

“Language,” Stiles scolded teasingly and felt Derek grin against his cheek. 

“We can’t do this,” he said a second later, more soberly. 

“I think we’re already doing this,” Stiles said and suddenly he felt bold. He pressed the length of his body against Derek’s, pushing his hips up into him, and groped blindly in the dark with his mouth. He hit his target (mostly) and anyway Derek was there to help Stiles latch his lips onto his own so it turned out to be all good. They kissed, almost desperately, for a short while. Then Stiles felt Derek’s hands clamp onto and clutch his ass cheeks, pulling him in closer, deepening the kiss, shoving his tongue further into Stiles’ mouth and down his throat.

Stiles was peripherally aware that he needed air. But he really didn’t want to separate his mouth from Derek’s in order to draw some in. If Derek kissed him to death, well. 

Somewhere off in the distance, Stiles heard the bell ring. The sound had Derek drawing back and Stiles whined in protest. With barely a thought, he darted a hand to Derek’s chest, feeling its hardness, groping at the muscles, then Stiles ran his palm down lower, letting his fingers splay across the abs-of-steel, and then he moved his hand down further, his palm settling on the hardness in Derek’s jeans, gently squeezing. 

“Stiles...”

He sounded breathless and Stiles wanted nothing more than to take Derek’s breath away completely. He pushed his palm against the denim again, still gentle but firm. 

Derek’s fingers closed around his wrist and he pulled Stiles’ hand away. “Bell just rung,” he said, sounding positively _wrecked_ and Stiles gave a quick smug thought to the fact that _he_ was the one who had wrecked Derek like that. “You have class. You don’t want to catch detention.” 

“Fuck deten--”

Derek put a finger to Stiles’ lips to silence him. Beyond the door, they could hear the bustle of teenagers in the hall, yelling to each other, banging lockers, scrambling their way to class. When the noise had died down completely, Derek cracked open the door and peeked out into the hallway. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because he yanked Stiles forward from the closet and then gave him a little tap to push him down the hall.

Stiles did end up catching detention with Mrs. O’Reilly for being late to history class. And so what if he whooped a little too enthusiastically when she wrote him up for it. Because the reason for his lateness?

So. Fucking. Worth. It.

Derek was no longer ignoring him during class but he did seem to find it necessary to send Stiles to the office with a manilla envelope of miscellaneous ‘paperwork’ nearly every day. Stiles was pretty sure it had something to do with the way his tongue had a habit of darting in and out of his mouth and licking over his lips when Stiles was thinking really hard. Derek had sent him right in the middle of a test one class (Stiles may have been guilty of doing some rather fantastic tongue Olympics but writing tests required deep concentration, okay?) which had elicited eyebrow raises from a couple of his classmates (so mostly all of them but especially Erica, Scott and surprisingly Isaac). Still, he could tell Derek had really needed the respite from his oral show, so when Stiles had returned he had tried particularly hard to keep his tongue in his mouth while he finished writing about symbolism in _Heart of Darkness_.

Eyebrows continued to raise at lunch (now also from Allison, Lydia, Danny and even Jackson; only Boyd seemed not bothered enough to react) when Stiles took to excusing himself twenty minutes into lunch (he’d always been a quick eater anyway), claiming he had ‘stuff’ to do. Of course, the ‘stuff he had to do’ was fiddling about his locker, hoping and waiting for Derek to come by and surreptitiously pull him into the janitor’s closet, which he was prone to doing at least three times a week.

It was where they were now – in the supply closet nearest Stiles’ locker – Derek’s mouth latched onto Stiles’ neck while Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s beautifully sculpted body. 

“This has to stop,” Derek said, his mouth moving lower to suck on the skin of Stiles’ collarbone. 

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed, tugging on Derek’s head to direct his mouth back to Stiles’ needy lips.

Yeah, he continued thinking, his tongue sliding against Derek’s. Yeah, they should probably stop. But Stiles was addicted to Derek’s mouth, to Derek’s body, to _Derek_. He didn’t think he could stop this. Besides, Stiles hardly ever did what was good for him anyway.

Derek knew it was a bad idea to let this thing with Stiles go any further. He knew he should put a stop to it. But knowing it was a bad idea – a very bad idea – apparently had no effect on Derek’s sense of morals or professional well-being. Which was why he pulled Stiles into the janitor’s closet every opportunity he could get so he could kiss the boy senseless while Stiles felt him up. (The feeling up – not the kissing – happened on the field during practice too, under the pretence of Stiles body checking him and, God, it made Derek want like crazy.)

He was completely shameless. But Derek couldn’t help himself. He wanted Stiles – his wolf wanted Stiles. Deep-rooted lust scorched inside him and Derek was fucking helpless to do anything but surrender to it, surrender to Stiles, whose mouth (and everything else) was so, so addictive.

And fuck it, Derek knew he was playing with fire (and wasn’t that sickly ironic?) because Stiles was fucking _sixteen_ and one of his students. But it didn’t stop Derek from wanting to claim him, possess him – fuck – _mate_ him.

Derek figured it was only a matter of time before that happened, before he lost control and just fucking _took_ what he needed from the kid. 

And when he did, there would be no going back.

He knew Stiles was going to be at the dance. It was one of the reasons Derek had agreed to provide supervision, even though he had always loathed high school dances and had no desire to police a bunch of teenagers.  
Derek spotted Stiles on the dance floor with the blonde girl, Erica, who was one of Stiles’ friends.

He had figured Stiles would be all awkward, flailing limbs when he danced but that wasn’t the case at all. There was some flailing, of course. It was Stiles. But the way the kid moved his hips...Fuck, it made Derek’s pulse quicken and his cock twitch.

“Careful, Hale,” Harris, the chemistry teacher, said, sidling up next to him. “Ogling teenage girls is usually frowned upon.”

Derek quickly realized that Harris must have thought Derek was ‘checking out’ Erica Reyes, whose t-shirt was stretched tight over her breasts and neckline plunged to show quite a bit of cleavage. Not that Derek couldn’t appreciate it; he just didn’t appreciate the way the girl kept shoving her buxom bosom into Stiles while she danced with him. 

He smiled tightly at Harris but said nothing. He’d let the man think what he wanted. 

Five minutes later Harris excused himself with a “be back” and Derek was left alone again to ‘ogle’. It wasn’t long, however, before Stiles bounced over toward him. 

“Checking out my moves?” he teased, grinning.

Derek rolled his eyes but grinned back.

Stiles let out a whooshing breath. “Can’t believe Argent got you to _chaperone_ the dance. Usually only Harris agrees to that shit.” Stiles leaned in to whisper, “Think he gets off watching the girls dance.”

Derek had had the same thought but since he was ‘getting off’ watching Stiles dance, there wasn’t much room to talk. “I’m _supervising_ ,” Derek corrected. Because “chaperoning” made him feel old. 

Stiles quirked a brow, amused. “Ah, supervising. Okay.”

“Yeah, make sure kids like you don’t spike the punch or suck each other’s faces off.”

“Dude, there’s no punch,” Stiles said with a wink. “But there is some serious face-sucking going on.” He glanced over his shoulder. “In fact, I think my best friend is doing some of that in the far corner there.”

Derek spared a glance to where Stiles was indicating and saw Scott McCall and Allison Argent looking very cozy in the back corner. Derek shrugged. “Harris can deal with it.”

“Delegating,” Stiles said appreciatively. “Nice.”

Derek leaned in to Stiles and said in a low voice, “I’m parked on the far side of the lot near the field. You want to take a break from dancing and suck face with me for a while?”

He had his answer when he saw Stiles’ pupils dilate. “Yeah,” the kid said. “Meet you out there in about ten minutes?”

Derek gave a quick nod and watched as Stiles rejoined Erica and her jiggling bosom. 

“Stilinski,” Harris said, suddenly back beside him, clear distaste in his tone.

“What about him?” Derek asked. He was sure Harris had not caught their conversation but the tone of his voice made Derek’s hackles rise. 

“Besides the fact he never shuts up and has the attention span of a squirrel?”

“He’s got ADHD,” Derek said. Derek had read Stiles’ student file. He knew Stiles took medication to control the condition. He also knew Stiles had a history of panic attacks that had come after his mother had passed away. Harris had to know these things too.

“Yeah, and it gives him a ready excuse to be a loudmouth and a shit-disturber,” Harris told him. “I don’t know how the sheriff puts up with the kid.”

Derek mentally bristled. He thought Harris was being a little unfair. Stiles was hyperactive – most teens were – but he wasn’t a troublemaker. And his dad, who was the Beacon Hills Sheriff, seemed to ‘put up’ with his son just fine. Harris was an asshole. 

“Better watch out,” Harris now said, looking out at Stiles and Erica dancing, Stiles giving Derek a wave followed by a goofy thumbs up. “I think Stilinski has a crush on you.”

“Stiles has a crush on most people,” Derek responded.

It was meant to deflect, of course. But Derek found himself wondering then hoping that it wasn’t really true. That Stiles didn’t have a crush on most people. Because Derek did not like that idea at all. And neither did his wolf. Because, like Derek, his wolf did not like to share.

Derek had barely slid into the car on the driver’s side before he found himself with a lap full of Stiles, all roaming hands and hot mouth. Derek had almost forgotten what it was like to be sixteen and perpetually horny.

Almost.

Stiles was nibbling at Derek’s ear, his breath ghosting warmly over the shell, causing the skin on his forearms to goose up. God, he loved Stiles’ mouth.

“I want to suck you,” the boy whispered filthily in his ear and Derek almost fucking lost it.

“You sure?” he asked silkily, heady.

Stiles bobbed his head up and down and damn if that didn’t do things to Derek, whose mind was already wandering in anticipation to Stiles’ head bobbing like that with his lips wrapped around Derek’s cock.

They somehow managed to climb into the Camaro’s tight back seat, Stiles folding himself on top of Derek, already tugging at his jeans. Derek helped pull them down, eager.

Derek’s erection had barely popped free when Stiles attacked it with his mouth, all wetness and heat. He was clearly inexperienced and unpractised but his mouth felt so fucking good. The angle was awkward, however, and Stiles was having a hard time keeping his mouth latched on, popping off every time one of them moved.

So Derek flipped them so that Stiles was on his back on the seat, his hips raised up over the console hump, Derek straddling Stiles’ chest and sliding his dick into the kid’s mouth.

“This okay?” Derek asked huskily, though it seemed moot since he already had his cock in Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles nodded, humming around Derek’s cock. He wiggled to gain a more comfortable position, sucking earnestly on Derek’s cock like it was something he _needed_ to survive.

It wasn’t long before Derek was pumping his dick into Stile’s mouth, fighting the urge to shove it in deeper and knocking the back of the kid’s throat with his cockhead. He tried not to think about how wrong this was. But fuck, this kid...

When he felt the beginning tingle of his orgasm rising, he started to pull out. Although he wanted nothing more than to come down Stiles’ throat, he didn’t think the kid was ready for it. Derek wasn’t quick enough, however, and the first of his spurting did happen in Stiles’ mouth, which caused Stiles to choke and sputter. Derek managed to pull free, the remainder of his eruption landing on Stiles’ face – his lips, his chin, his cheeks.

Fuck.

Derek spared a moment to run the head of his cock over Stiles’ spoiled lips, smearing his spunk over them. Then he slid a hand into Stiles’ pants and stripped him quickly. Less than ten tugs and Stiles was arching beneath him, shooting hot and messy all over his shirt front.

Derek looked down at Stiles. Christ, the kid looked absolutely debauched. His lips were swollen and smeared with Derek’s come, his cheeks red and dotted with globs of spunk, his button up shirt front completely soiled.

He was fucking beautiful.

“I would’ve let you come in my mouth, you know,” Stiles said through those sinful lips.

“I don’t know,” Derek mused, smirking. “I think I like this look better.” He swiped a finger through the mess on Stiles’ chin then raised it to his mouth. But Stiles grabbed his hand and brought it to his own mouth, sucking Derek’s spunk-covered finger in.

Fucking fuck.

Derek rummaged through a bag on the floor of his back seat and came up with a t-shirt which he wiped over Stiles’ face. Then he did what he could to clean up the boy’s spunk from the rest of him.

“Better,” Derek assessed. “But there’s no way you can go back into the dance like that.” He pointed at Stiles’ shirt. There was a pretty obvious wet patch that would not go unnoticed.

Stiles laughed. “’S’ok,” he said. “Pretty sure this was the high point of the night.” He leaned in and kissed Derek’s mouth. “Much better than spiking punch or sucking face.” He let a moment tick by, his face growing more serious, then said, “Next time, we can have sex, right? I want to have sex.”

“Stiles...”

“Please? I want to have sex with you.” He looked Derek in the eyes. “Unless you don’t want to...?” He trailed off, vulnerable and hesitant.

Of course, Derek wanted to have sex with Stiles. He wanted to fuck the kid senseless. He just wasn’t sure that it was a good idea.

But that didn’t stop Derek from leaning forward and kissing Stiles, saying, “Yeah, okay. We can have sex.”

Stiles grinned, looking obviously pleased and Derek knew at that moment that he was going on a one-way trip straight to fucking hell.

“What happened to you at the dance last night?” Scott asked the second Stiles let him into his bedroom. It was customary for Scott to come over on Saturday afternoons to play video games.

“Yeah, like you noticed,” Stiles teased. “Too busy in a dark corner sucking face with Allison.” He ruffled Scott’s hair. “Nice job, by the way.”

His best friend blushed. “Take it you were off with Hale somewhere,” he said, frowning.

“What?” Stiles said. He had given Derek a blow job in the back seat of his Camaro and it had been awesome. Nobody could rain on his parade, not even Scott.

“You guys are gonna get in so much trouble,” Scott said. “If Argent or your dad find out--”

Stiles pushed the door of his bedroom closed quietly. “Which is why we’re not talking about it,” he told Scott. “Not here and not at school.” His dad was on the afternoon shift today and had just been getting ready to leave for work when Scott had shown up.

Scott waggled his eyebrows as if to say, ‘How am I supposed to find out the details if we can’t talk about it here or at school?’ Stiles had known Scott since he was six. He could read Scott’s eyebrow waggles like a boss.

“Let’s just say I did a little reciprocating,” Stiles revealed, keeping his voice low. 

Stiles watched Scott’s face scrunch then smooth out, his eyes going wide as he got what Stiles was saying. Then he made a grimace. “And I thought making it to the sucking face stage with Allison was something,” he said, looking like a sad little puppy.

“Dude, it took you like a year to ask her out,” Stiles said, patting Scott on the back. “Sucking face on your first official date? Totally something.”

They were in the far back of Stiles’ jeep, Stiles with his shirt rucked up and his pants down, and Derek sliding a second lube-coated finger up inside him, carefully preparing him.

Derek had gone with Stiles right after the game, waiting at least ten minutes before meeting him at his jeep to be sure nobody would see them leaving together. (Derek was pretty sure McCall was in the know because he was Stiles’ best friend and Derek understood the bro-code that went with that relationship. It would also explain the often disapproving looks Scott tended to toss his way as if to communicate to Derek that he’d better do right by Stiles or else. He could appreciate McCall’s attempt at a threat even if Derek wasn’t very intimated by a sixteen year old who came across as a cute little puppy.)

Stiles had again spent the game sitting on the bench, not playing once, and Derek had found himself easily distracted from his assistant coach duties by the way Stiles gnawed on his gloves when the play got a little rough or unnerving.

The truth of it was, Derek had wanted to fuck Stiles into the ground a few times during the game but figured it would have been traumatizing to Stiles’ teammates, the opposing team’s players, the spectators and most especially Principal Argent who had shown up with her daughter Allison to watch the game. Probably the only one who would’ve come out unscathed if that had happened would have been Finstock. Derek had a sneaky suspicion the coach had a bit of a voyeuristic kink.

“Okay?” Derek asked as he inserted a third finger, stretching Stiles’ tight hole further.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out.

Derek brushed his lips against the nape of Stiles’ neck, feeling even more aroused when the boy shuddered. 

“Ready?” he whispered and he felt rather than heard Stiles respond affirmatively.

Derek removed his fingers and reached for the foil packet, removed the condom and rolled it down over his erection. Strictly speaking, they didn’t need to use a condom. Derek’s werewolf body effectively wiped out all disease so Stiles was not at risk. But since he couldn’t explain that to Stiles, it was best to go through with the proper motions. Besides, the lubed-up latex would make it easier to slip his cock in, which would be better for Stiles anyway.

Derek guided his cockhead to Stiles’ hole and gave a little nudge. He heard Stiles’ sharp intake of breath. He placed soothing kisses on the back of Stiles’ neck as he eased himself in, slowly at first, then a bit more eagerly aggressive.

He knew it was the kid’s first time and that he should be more gentle. But Derek couldn’t help himself. He wanted to shove his cock into Stiles’ beautiful tight hole and just fuck the boy senseless. It was partly the wolf in him, he knew, but it was also partly his own human desire for Stiles that made Derek feel so reckless and needy.

“You alright?” Derek asked once he was fully in.

“Yeah,” Stiles said on a breath.

Derek grazed his lips over the outer shell of Stiles’ ear and said, “I’m going to fuck you hard now, okay?”

“O-okay.”

Derek tried not to think about the shakiness in the kid’s voice and instead pulled Stiles in tighter, hooking an arm across his shoulders and chest to gain some hold, some leverage. He pulled out a little and pressed back in, gauging the movement in order to set the pace and rhythm. The kid was tight. Deliciously tight on the one hand but dangerously tight on the other. Derek didn’t want to hurt Stiles but a part of him needed to just _take_ the boy.

In the end, it was the wolf that decided with Derek holding onto as much control as possible. After a few tentative thrusts, Derek just let loose, ramming his cock into Stiles over and over again, allowing himself to just take with reckless abandon.

He heard Stiles’ gasps and whimpers, his expression of total submission as he fucked hard into him, and Derek had to fight to curb the wolf’s mating instincts, the ones that caused his cock to swell and tie them together. Almost subconsciously Derek bit down on Stiles’ shoulder to keep control, moving up along the kid’s neck to grate his teeth.

 _Mine, mine, mine_ , screamed the wolf. _Mate, mate, mate._

Derek gripped Stiles’ hip with one hand to maintain the steady pounding. He reached around with the other for Stiles’ cock, which he was pleased to find was hard and leaking, and began jerking roughly to bring him off. Derek could feel the heat coiling in his abdomen and sparking along his spine and knew he was probably seconds away from total release. To his surprise, though, Stiles came first, erupting warm over Derek’s hand, gasps of “oh, oh, fuck yes” slipping from his lips.

Derek wanted so badly to come inside Stiles, to make Stiles _his_. But he settled for pulling out, yanking off the condom and shooting right onto Stiles’ lower back and ass, rubbing his dick along the crack, across his now despoiled hole. His wolf seemed appeased by this, Derek marking Stiles in this way. 

He collapsed against Stiles’ back, breathing heavy, letting the aftershocks of his orgasm run through him. Stiles pressed back into him and Derek could feel his body still shaking, his breaths still coming out in pants.

“Shades worthy?” Derek asked, brushing a kiss to the tender spot just under Stiles ear.

“Mind. Blown,” was the kid’s response. Then, “How long before we can do it again?”

Derek breathed out a chuckle. “Give me about ten minutes, kid,” he said. “Then I’ll blow your mind again.”

“Awesome.”

It took his sister less than two weeks to say something.

“Tell me you’re not fucking one of your high school students,” Laura said when Derek came through the door one evening.

“Okay,” Derek replied, shrugging out of his leather jacket and tossing it onto the back of the closest armchair.

Laura sighed. “So who are you screwing then? Some pretty blonde, brunette or red-head?”

“Um...Stiles?”

“I’m sorry. What?” His sister’s eyes narrowed, assessing him. To be honest, Derek thought she would have been able to scent it out on her own. Though with Laura, this could just be a game she was playing.

“Stiles,” he said. “That’s his name.” Derek shrugged. “He’s not blonde or a red-head. So I guess a brunette?”

“Stiles,” Laura repeated, her face thoughtful. Derek knew from experience that could be dangerous. “You mean the Stilinski kid? As in _Sheriff_ Stilinski’s kid?”

Derek tilted his head a fraction to indicate Laura was correct.

His sister goggled at him. “Oh my God, Derek. Are you insane?”

Like Derek hadn’t already wondered the same thing. 

“You get that it’s not just your job you could lose, right?” Laura questioned. Derek could hear the ‘Are you really this stupid?’ tone in her voice. “You could go to _jail_ , Derek. Stiles is what? Six--”

“Sixteen,” Derek finished for her. Yes, he was well aware how old Stiles was.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Sixteen. And the Sheriff of Beacon Hills’ fucking kid.” She blew out a heavy sigh. “I thought we agreed we were going to stay under the radar, Derek.”

“I am staying under the radar.” He and Stiles were being careful, keeping an appropriate distance at school and making sure their interactions were friendly but not too friendly. Their hook ups took place outside that boundary, usually in Stiles’ jeep or Derek’s Camaro.

“By _fucking_ the Sheriff’s _sixteen year old kid_ who’s a _student_ in your class in the high school where _Victoria Argent_ is principal?”

Okay, so when Laura put it like that, it didn’t exactly sound like he was trying to stay under the radar at all. 

“My wolf wants him, Laura,” he said, like that was supposed to explain everything.

“You need to control it, Derek,” his sister, his alpha, said.

“I am,” Derek told her. And he was – mostly. Then he added, “ _I_ want him.” He needed Laura to understand.

Laura’s look was sharp. “You haven’t kno--”

“No,” Derek said. So far Derek had been able to control his wolf’s desire and instinct to mate Stiles. It seemed enough for now to mark him in ways that suggested Stiles was theirs – the wolf’s and Derek’s.

“Just be careful this doesn’t end up biting you in the ass, little brother,” Laura said, her brow knitted with concern. “I really don’t want to have to tell you I told you so.”

Stiles thought that riding Derek Hale’s cock pretty much had to be the best fucking thing in the world.

He especially liked it when they were in the confines of the Jeep front, Derek sprawled in the passenger seat, Stiles mounted on top of him, one of Derek’s big hands on each ass cheek as he jerked Stiles up and down on his cock.

The frenzied rhythm of Derek’s cock being shoved up inside him, along with Stiles’ frantic tugging of his own dick, always set Stiles off quickly. This time was no exception and all too soon Stiles was shooting all over Derek’s grey Henley. Derek soon followed, his cock pulsing then filling Stiles up with his warm release.

Stiles slumped forward against Derek’s body in a boneless heap, sweat and his own spunk between them. Derek was still buried inside him, his cock plugging Stiles’ hole so the come wouldn’t leak out. 

“I think I’m addicted to having sex with you,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s neck. 

“There are worse things,” Derek murmured in response, amusement in his voice.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied. “Like not having sex with you.” This made Derek chuckle and Stiles decided he loved the rumbling sound of Derek’s laugh.

They stayed slumped together like this until Derek started to soften and Stiles grabbed a towel from his backseat to clean them up. When Stiles was back in the driver’s seat, pants back on, and Derek looking perfectly put back together (except for the wet patch on his shirt), Derek turned to him, all serious face, and said, “We need to be careful, Stiles. If Victoria Argent or your dad find out--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Stiles said, turning the key to start the engine. They were parked a half mile deep in the woods of the Beacon Hills Preserve. How much more careful could they get?

Derek’s knuckles brushed against his cheekbone as he gave Stiles a small smile. Stiles returned it with one of his own before gearing the Jeep into reverse and directing it out of the brush.

It wasn’t the most awkward conversation Derek had ever had but it was certainly a top contender – on his part at least.

It was fall term parent-teacher interview night and across from him sat the last parent to see him – Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles’ dad.

“I just came from meeting with Harris,” the sheriff said dryly, right off the bat. “I’m hoping you can help end the evening on a high by telling me my son is a well-behaved student who’s getting straight As.”

Derek smiled. “Stiles can be a little unfocused at times but he’s bright and he’s a good kid,” he said, swallowing around his suddenly dry throat. What he said was true and it sure beat telling the sheriff that his sixteen year old son was a good fuck, right?

The sheriff looked both surprised and pleased by Derek’s words. “Well, he’s been spending a lot of time after school lately studying with Scott so...”

“Scott?’ Derek said dumbly, feeling his heartbeat pick up. He was pretty sure Stiles hadn’t spent an afternoon after school with McCall in over a month because he now typically spent that time with Derek – usually half or fully undressed and bent over in various positions. 

“Scott McCall. Stiles’ best friend?” The sheriff’s brows knitted together. “I thought Scott was in your class too.”

“Yes. Right. Of course,” Derek said with a nod, covering his momentary check-out with another smile. It was good thing the elder Stilinski didn’t know him that well or he’d call bullshit on all the smiling Derek was doing. Stiles definitely would.

He looked down at the papers in front of him. Overall, Stiles’ grades were good, though there was definitely room for improvement. His performance on the last couple of assignments was subpar compared to his usual levels of diligence, which Derek chalked up to Stiles being distracted. This meant that Derek was going to have to have a talk with Stiles about it.

“His grades are good overall,” Derek reported to the sheriff. “Though they were slightly better at the start of the term.” He had to tell the sheriff the minimal truth. “Nothing to worry about, though. Probably just a little distracted with all the extra lacrosse practice he’s been putting in.” It wasn’t a total lie.

The sheriff nodded. “Stiles has been telling me you’ve been helping him improve his game. That’s really great.” The man gave Derek a half-grin. “Maybe he’ll get on the field this season.”

It was spoken like a father who help hope for his son and it made Derek feel both warm and slightly guilty. “He’s got a lot of potential,” Derek told him truthfully. “If we can just harness all that unfocused energy Stiles has, he could be an ace player.” 

Derek had already noticed the improvement in Stiles’ skills and play since he had started working with him at practice. Stiles hadn’t quite reached the level of _focused_ energy he seemed to have when he was having sex with Derek – _that_ energy was very focused and well spent - but it was considerably more directed than it had been.

The sheriff was now standing and was holding his hand out to Derek. “Well, thank you, Mr. Hale,” he said, shaking Derek’s hand. “It was nice meeting you.” He grinned at Derek. “I don’t think I have to tell you that you’re Stiles’ favourite teacher.”

Derek fought the urge to blush. “It was nice meeting you as well, sir,” he responded.

When the sheriff was gone, Derek pulled out his cell phone and typed in a text to Stiles:

_fuck_

_lol_

_so exactly how many guns does your dad have at his disposal?_

_a lot_

_fuck_

_lol_

Erica cornered Stiles at his locker just before third period.

“You and Mr. Hale, Stiles?” she said, looking impressed. “God, what I wouldn’t do to be able to lick that man’s spunk off your naked body.”

Now there was a visual. Stiles felt the blush rise up from his neck and spread across his face. And he thought sex with Derek was the hottest thing he could imagine.

Erica grinned wickedly. “Danny too. Though he’d probably switch it up and lick your spunk off Hale’s body.”

Stiles looked around, just short of frantic. “Shhh,” he told Erica. “Just. You need to keep this on the down-low. If Argent or – _God_ – my dad found out--”

Erica laughed. “Half the school knows you’re screwing our English teacher, Stiles. And the other half that doesn’t is just stupid.”

Stiles must have looked panicked because Erica said hurriedly, “Don’t worry. It’s just our group that thinks it, really. And that’s because we _know_ you, Stiles.” She put her hand up at Stiles’ starting protest. “And, no, Scott didn’t tell us. Jerk.” She sighed out a breath. “It’s the way you look at him, Stiles. And the way he looks at you.”

Stiles was surprised. There was a way Derek looked at him?

He must have said that bit out loud because Erica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, dumbass. Mostly he looks at you like he wants to fuck you into the ground,” she said, and Stiles’ blush intensified. “But there’s something else there too,” she added, her face expressing a kind of wonder that Stiles found intriguing. 

_There’s something else there too..._

Erica’s words stayed with him for the rest of the afternoon. Stiles couldn’t help but wonder just what that ‘something else’ might be.

They were in Derek’s bed (which had become more frequent of late), coming down from the highs of a second orgasm, Stiles flopped across Derek’s chest and humming contently. Derek wouldn’t tell the boy, but it was a sound he loved – the sound of Stiles _happy_.

“So, uh, Erica says she wants to lick your spunk off my body,” Stiles said, aiming for casual but Derek could tell he was a little nervous. “Danny too apparently.”

Derek frowned. Where had _that_ come from? he wondered. “Did you want to...try that?” he asked, fishing. Was this Stiles’ way of asking to have a threesome? Or a foursome?

“What? No,” Stiles said. “I mean, sure, it would be hot but I, uh, I’m not sure I’m ready for a threesome?” He felt Stiles swallow against his chest. “I mean, unless _you_ want to.” There was a pause then, “I-I don’t want you to get bored with me.”

Ah. Derek got it now. “I’m not bored with you, Stiles,” Derek told him, brushing a finger over the kid’s cheekbone. “And I’m not going to get bored with you.” It was the truth. Stiles was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him and there was no way Derek would ever tire of him.

“You sure?” Stiles still sounded a little insecure about it.

“Yes,” Derek said, dropping a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Tell Erica and Danny to piss off. I like having you all to myself.”

Stiles let out a chuckle then squirmed, moving over top Derek. Derek helped settle the boy onto his hips.

Stiles looked down at him, grinning. “Up for another fuck then, old man?” he teased, licking those tantalizing lips.

Derek felt his cock twitch and grinned. He palmed Stiles’ butt cheeks, ready for round three.

When Stiles first met Laura Hale he thought she was equal measures intriguing and fucking terrifying. She had the same dark good looks and intense green eyes as Derek but her scrutinizing assessment of him was, to say the least, rather intimidating. With one look (and strangely, her green eyes seemed to take on a red tinge which must have been due to the lighting in the house, Stiles decided), Stiles understood her to be saying, ‘You mess with my brother and I will seriously fuck you up, kid’.

But Stiles forgot all about Laura and her possible threats to do him bodily harm when Derek slammed him up against the back of the door as soon as Stiles came into his bedroom, his mouth covering Stiles’ hotly, his hands already pulling at Stiles’ clothing.

His jeans and boxers were off before Stiles could even appreciate Derek’s obvious neediness and he found himself being pulled and then shoved onto the bed, Derek climbing on top of him, already naked. And when had that happened? Stiles thought, completely dizzy. 

And then Derek was parting his thighs and shoving his cock into him – no lubrication and no preparation, except for a quick swipe of pre-come (most likely Derek’s because he tended to drip excessively) over his hole and a sharp jab of his thumb inside to stretch. The initial intrusion burned something fierce and the rough pounding was slightly painful but Stiles didn’t care. He liked it when Derek took him like this. Stiles especially liked it rough like this when it was accompanied by dirty talk.

And boy was Derek ever talking dirty to him now.

“You like this, Stiles? My cock pounding into you?” He rammed his cock in deep and hard, wrenching a positively filthy moan out of Stiles. “Your greedy little hole likes having my cock shoved deep inside it, doesn’t it?”

Stiles gripped the headboard with his hands stretched overhead, tightened his legs around Derek’s hips and bit down on his bottom lip, nodding. It was true. So, very, very true.

Derek’s grin was almost feral. “You’re such a little cock-slut, aren’t you, Stiles? But you’re _my_ cock-slut. Right?”

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Stiles panted. He was Derek’s. Only Derek’s.

“That’s right,” Derek muttered through his own grunting, pulling out and slamming into Stiles again and again, hitting that sweet spot with knowing precision.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to come after that and his hips were soon bucking and then he was shooting wild all over himself and all over Derek, hands still gripping the headboard, legs still wrapped tightly around Derek’s hips. He knew this would send Derek over the edge – Stiles coming without even being touched – and he felt the hot mess of Derek’s release inside him as he clenched around him, riding out the last waves of his blinding orgasm.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek expressed, looking completely wrecked. He bent his torso to lick at the come-covered tip of Stiles’ cock.

Yeah. Derek liked to do that. And Stiles didn’t mind it all. Found it quite hot, actually.

Then they were laying on their sides, limbs tangled, completely uncaring that their bodies were a right mess, covered and smeared in Stiles’ drying come.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, his mouth a breath away from Stiles’ lips, his hand caressing over Stiles’ hip, his fingers slipping deftly into the crack of his butt cheeks. “I’m sorry I’m—if it’s too rough.”

“S’ok,” Stiles told him, Derek’s fingers now running the length of his crack. “I like it rough with you.” He felt Derek’s digit at his entrance then it was poking into his sore and abused hole, pushing the come – Derek’s come - that had dribbled out, back inside him. 

It was another one of those things Derek liked to do. And Stiles loved it. It made him feel like he was his, that he was Derek’s. 

Stiles sucked at Derek’s lips, grinning. “Maybe I’ll let you tie me up next time,” he teased with promise.

Derek fucking growled.

Stiles did let Derek tie him up the next time. In fact, Stiles was currently spread out on Derek’s bed, his arms stretched overhead, one of Derek’s t-shirts wrapped around his wrists and wound through the slots, securing Stiles to the headboard.

It was a sight that had Derek feeling positively hot and his wolf practically howling.

Stiles hitched his hips up, pulling Derek forward with his legs, which were wrapped around Derek’s own hips.

“I’m all tied up now,” Stiles purred, looking at Derek from under sinfully lush lashes. “So whatcha gonna do to me?”

Fuck. The way Stiles was flirting with him – bold and completely confident – was sexy as hell and it turned Derek on beyond belief. He loved it when Stiles was like this – submissive but also clearly in control.

“Everything,” Derek breathed out. He unwrapped Stiles’ legs from his body, pushing his thighs back so that Stiles’ ass was on display for him, his perfect pink hole offered up for Derek’s taking. 

Derek licked his lips and saw Stiles watching him, his brown eyes dark, pupils blown wide. He did want to do everything to Stiles but Derek would start with breaking him apart with his tongue.

Stiles let out a moan as Derek swiped the flat of his tongue across the kid’s hole, lapping over it then poking the tip inside.

“Oh...”

Derek grinned, continuing to lick and poke, trying to draw out the murmurs and moans from Stiles he so loved to hear. Urged on by the sounds Stiles was making, Derek moved into tongue-fucking Stiles, wanting so badly to make Stiles fall apart underneath him. 

“Oh God, Derek. Please. Please.”

Derek knew what Stiles wanted. The kid’s cock, red and hard and leaking against his stomach, matched Derek’s own, neither one getting the attention needed. But Derek pushed the thought of his own release aside for the moment. He wanted to make Stiles come first – and he wanted to do it with just his tongue.

“Come for me, Stiles,” he urged, spreading Stiles wider and fucking his tongue in again and again. Stiles’ hips started to buck, signalling he was close and Derek fucked his tongue in faster and harder. _Come for me, Stiles_.

“Oh fuck!” Stiles expressed, his hips suddenly jerking then halting, his cock finally spurting his release.

Derek flicked his tongue in a few more times and then hitched himself up, grabbing his cock with one hand while keeping Stiles spread open with the other. A dozen or so tugs and Derek was coming, spilling copiously along Stiles’ crack, onto his hole and ass cheeks.

He sat back on his haunches and let himself just breathe for a minute or two. Then Derek proceeded to lick every last drop of their collective spunk from Stiles’ body, while Stiles lay there, boneless and exhausted.

When he was clean, Derek untied Stiles from the headboard and laid down beside him. He wrapped his arms around the boy, tucking him into his body, Stiles’ back flat against Derek’s chest.

“You’re a kinky bastard, you know that?” Stiles said and Derek could hear the smile in the kid’s voice. “But you’re a fucking awesome cuddler.”

Derek chuckled, letting Stiles snuggle further into him. He could admit that he loved cuddling with Stiles almost as much as he loved fucking him. He nosed the back of Stiles’ neck and breathed in the beautiful scent of the boy. 

He’d let Stiles sleep for about an hour or so. But then Derek had definite plans to make Stiles come at least twice more before the kid had to go home.

“This?” Derek said, holding up the essay. “Is utter shit.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Gee, for an English teacher, your vocabulary is pretty unimpressive.”

Derek looked at Stiles with an expression he hoped conveyed how very unimpressed _he_ was.

Stiles blew out a sigh. “Dude, can’t you just give me an A because we’re like, you know, screwing?”

Derek frowned. “No, Stiles. I can’t just give you an A. You need to do the essay properly. With actual paragraphs and complete sentences.” He fixed the kid with a look. “And don’t call me dude.”

Stiles smirked. He actually _smirked_. “Okay, _Mr. Hale_.”

Derek’s frown deepened. “You need to take this seriously, Stiles,” he said. “I can’t have you failing my class.” Okay, so Stiles wasn’t exactly in danger of failing but... “Not only does it wound me personally, as an affront to my teaching ability,” Derek continued, “but you failing is a sure way to call attention to--” He gestured between the two of them.

“Us screwing?” Stiles supplied helpfully.

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. If they were exposed – beyond the teenage gossip chain, that was -things would be bad. It’s likely that Derek would lose his job and he might even be arrested and charged with a sexual offence against a minor. Derek really did not want that to happen and he was pretty sure Stiles didn’t either.

“Don’t be such a sour-grump,” Stiles told him, grinning. “I’ll fix it.” He took the essay from Derek’s hand and leaned across the desk, brushing his mouth across Derek’s, flicking his tongue out to lick at Derek’s bottom lip. Then he winked, tucking the essay into his backpack, and sauntered out of the classroom.

Derek scrubbed a hand down his face. Jesus Christ, that kid was going to be the death of him. A pleasant death, sure, but still.

Derek stayed another half hour or so reviewing more of the essays, doing his best to shake all thoughts of Stiles from his head. Which was hard because Derek thought about Stiles all the damn time. And he was doing a pretty good job of it, Derek thought, and making good headway through the essays – that is, until Victoria Argent came by the classroom to pay him a visit, her expression a foreboding mix of stern and smug.

“So, shall we talk about the Stilinski kid?” she said. It wasn’t a suggestion.

That’s when Derek knew it was all over.

His dad was sitting at the kitchen table when Stiles came home from school, his service revolver and a box of bullets laid out in front of him.

“Got a call from Principal Argent today,” he said, looking darkly dangerous as he calmly loaded bullets into the gun. Just as calmly, he announced, “I’m going to kill Derek Hale.”

Stiles gulped. “W-what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Derek _Hale_ ,” his dad pounded a fist on the table and Stiles jumped, “taking advantage of my sixteen year old son!”

“He’s not taking advantage, Dad,” Stiles quickly defended. “He’s--”

“Twenty-six. You’re sixteen,” his dad stated flatly. “ _And_ he’s your teacher. I’m sorry, son, but what part of that is not taking advantage?”

“It’s not like that,” Stiles tried to argue. “We’re--”

“What?” his dad said, eyebrows raising. “In _love_?” 

Did that seem so implausible? Stiles wondered. There was no question Stiles was in love with Derek. And maybe – _maybe_ – Derek was a little bit in love with him too.

“You’re a teenage boy infatuated with your very attractive English teacher,” his dad said. “I get it. It’s lust, Stiles. That’s what happens when you’re a sexually confused and horny teenager. You lust after people. Sometimes inappropriate people. But for Hale to have played on your infatuation like that...”

“I’m not sexually confused,” Stiles stated.

“You’re having sex with a man ten years older than you, Stiles. Your _teacher_.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe the son-of-a-bitch sat across from me in that parent-teacher interview telling me all these great things about you, not a damn one of them being that he’s been screwing you--”

“I’m not confused,” Stiles repeated stubbornly. He was not going to let anyone, even his dad, tell him that he was confused about his sexuality or about Derek. He wasn’t. 

“God, tell me you’ve been using protection,” his dad said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Um, yeah...of course...” Stiles said vaguely. He couldn’t very well tell his dad that he and Derek had stopped using condoms after the first couple of times. And they’d had a lot of sex since then.

His dad’s look was murderous. “Goddamit, Stiles!” He banged both fists on the table this time. “I’m gonna to kill that bastard.”

“Please, Dad!” Stiles pleaded. “Don’t hurt him.”

This wasn’t Derek’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Because fault - _blame_ \- implied that something had been done that was _wrong_. And what Derek and Stiles were doing wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t. Stiles had never felt something so right.

“Oh I’m going to hurt him,” his dad said, rising up from his chair. “I’m gonna make damn sure Hale feels a whole lot of pain...”

Then his dad was out the door and speeding off in his car before Stiles could get his body to stop shaking. 

This was bad, he thought. Really, really bad. His eyes flicked to the table.

His dad’s gun was still there, thank God. But, fuck it all, he had taken the keys to Stiles’ Jeep.

Derek was not surprised when Stiles’ dad came around the house to pay him a visit. In fact, he would have been surprised if he hadn’t.

He allowed the sheriff to let loose on him, not even bothering to defend himself, resigned to taking punch after punch until the elder Stilinski seemed sufficiently satisfied he’d beaten Derek senseless.

“Stay away from my son,” Sheriff Stilinski warned. “By Monday, I’ll have a restraining order in effect against you keeping you away from him. You break it and I’ll have you arrested and charged with statutory rape. Are we clear?”

Derek nodded. Oh, they were crystal.

As soon as Stiles’ dad left, Derek picked himself up and went into the bathroom. He grabbed a vial from the medicine cabinet and swallowed the wolfsbane concoction that would slow down the accelerated healing process that was natural to his werewolf body. Derek couldn’t afford to raise suspicions if the cuts and bruises from the Sheriff’s beating healed too quickly. Besides, the wounds would serve as a reminder of what Stiles’ dad had done and why he had done it. It was exactly what Derek deserved.

An hour later, Derek got two successive texts from Stiles.

_u okay?_

_my dad...did he hurt you?_

_i’m okay_ , Derek texted back.

He couldn’t tell Stiles that he’d be perfectly fine if not for the wolfsbane concoction.

_im sorry_

_nothing to be sorry about. not your fault._

_i want to see u_

_bad idea right now_

_he took the keys to my jeep anyway_

_prbly a good thing_

_fuck I hate this_

Derek left it at that. And when Stiles texted him later with _i miss you_ , Derek didn’t respond, telling himself that it would be better for Stiles if he didn’t.

Derek got the official call from the Beacon Hills School Board the next day – Saturday.

By Sunday he was still hurting from the slowly healing cuts and bruises and found himself spirally rapidly into depression. 

And, fucking hell, he missed Stiles.

Derek was not at school on Monday. Instead, Principal Argent paid the class a visit to inform them that Derek Hale was no longer an employee of Beacon Hills High School and that she would be taking over the class until a suitable replacement could be found.

Anger and guilt filled Stiles. It was bad enough that his dad had laid a beating on Derek. Now to find out that Derek had also been fired from his job?

This was Stiles’ fault. He was always teasing Derek about constantly harping on them being careful and waving away his concerns. Hell, he had done just that on Friday when Derek had lectured him about doing such a piss-poor job on his last English essay (which, admittedly, Stiles had spent zero time on). _Don’t be such a sour-grump_ , he’d said. _I’ll fix it_. And Stiles had recklessly leaned in and had _kissed_ Derek. Right in the fucking classroom. Victoria Argent had probably been lurking in the hallway and had seen him do it. (Stiles didn’t want to think of another possibility – that Allison had maybe told her mother about them.) Fuck.

Scott (predictably) and Allison (surprisingly) both tried to waylay him as soon as class ended but Stiles shoved them off, going after Principal Argent as she stalked toward her office, apparently not giving a damn that she had just toppled Stiles’ whole world.

He didn’t even wait for her to close the door before confronting her, his anger taking control. “You can’t fire him. He didn’t do anything!” Stiles knew the office staff could hear him but he couldn’t even give one fuck.

Principal Argent arched an eyebrow. “I am the principal of this school, Mr. Stilinski,” she said, regarding him coolly. “I think you’ll find I can do whatever I damn well please, especially if it means ensuring the welfare of the students under my care. And as far as your claim that Mr. Hale didn’t _do anything_ , well I think you and I both know that’s not true.” She fixed Stiles with a stern look. “I know I don’t have to tell you that having sex with a minor is a criminal offence. Having sex with a _student_ minor while in a position of authority is also grounds for immediate dismissal.”

“You can’t do this,” Stiles argued weakly. This wasn’t Derek’s fault. 

“I can and I have,” Victoria Argent said. “Now I would advise you to get to your next class, Mr. Stilinski, or I’ll be forced to add another detention to your record.” 

Stiles bristled but he turned to leave nonetheless. “One more thing,” Principal Argent said before Stiles was out the door. “You can help Mr. Hale abide by the conditions of the restraining order your father has enacted against him by _staying away from him_.”

Restraining order? His dad had effectively grounded Stiles over the weekend by keeping the keys to his Jeep but he hadn’t said anything about a restraining order. But then he hadn’t said much to Stiles at all. And, to be honest, Stiles had been too busy worrying about Derek not answering his texts to even consider what his dad’s non-communication could possibly have meant.

Stiles made it to lunch before he decided to cut the remainder of his classes and head out to the Hale house. He had his Jeep (his dad had given his keys back that morning so Stiles could drive himself to school) and he wanted to see Derek – _needed_ to see Derek. So Stiles could tell him he was sorry, that it wasn’t Derek’s fault, and that Derek didn’t deserve this.

Scott was at his locker when Stiles went to get his stuff.

“Tell me you’re not planning on doing something stupid,” his friend said and Stiles huffed a sigh. “Like cutting school and going to see Hale.”

“I need to see him,” Stiles said, manoeuvring around Scott to open his locker. “He shouldn’t have been fired. It wasn’t his fault, Scott.”

“He’s a _teacher_ , Stiles. He should never have--”

“Are you serious?” Stiles expressed, feeling betrayed. “You’re taking Argent’s side?” He levelled his best friend with a look. “Oh, I get it. Now that you and Allison are the poster teens for cute and happy couples, I guess Derek and I banging like bunnies only qualifies as a dirty affair.” 

“Stiles...”

But Stiles was pissed off. He was tired of people making judgements about his relationship (was it a relationship?) with Derek. “Yeah. Like it wasn’t your _girlfriend_ who ratted us out to her mom or anything.”

“Stiles, you know Allison would never have said anything--”

“Sure,” Stiles said, still angry and resentful but now also feeling a little bit guilty. Scott wasn’t the enemy. And neither was Allison. They weren’t the ones trying to keep Stiles away from Derek. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

Scott clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know you dig Hale _a lot_. And I’m sure he digs you. But with him getting fired and your dad just waiting for a reason to put a bullet in him, I don’t – I just don’t want you to get hurt, Stiles.”

Stiles understood what Scott was saying. Now that shit had gotten real, maybe Derek wasn’t as willing as Stiles to continue with whatever they had going on. There were further risks still – jail being one of them - and Stiles couldn’t blame Derek if he decided he wanted out. Maybe that was the reason Derek wasn’t responding to his texts. Maybe this was Derek’s way of calling it quits. Whatever, Stiles had to know and he needed _Derek_ to tell him.

“I need to see him,” he said again. 

This time Scott gave him a nod of understanding and let Stiles pass without a further word.

It had been relatively easy, though painful, to ignore the texts Stiles had sent him over the weekend. It wasn’t so easy to ignore Stiles when he showed up at Derek’s door.

“What are you doing here, Stiles? “ Derek asked, frowning. “You should be in school.”

Stiles was staring at him and it took Derek a moment to remember that he hadn’t yet healed because he had been taking the wolfsbane concoction.

“My dad did that?” Stiles said, and he looked pained, which made Derek inwardly wince. It hadn’t been his intention to hurt Stiles by holding onto the visible injuries. Stiles didn’t wait for an answer, though, just ploughed on with, “I wanted to see you. My dad took the keys to my Jeep, you weren’t answering my texts, and when I got to school this morning I found out you got fired.” He gave Derek a confused but serious look. “Why do you _think_ I’m here?” 

Derek gestured for Stiles to come inside. He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible – for both their sakes.

“Look, Stiles, I—I can’t do this,” Derek said simply, running a hand through his hair.

“Do what?” Stiles asked and Derek hated the expression of resignation on his face, like he knew what was coming but needed to hear Derek say it.

Derek waved a hand between them. “Us.”

Stiles visibly swallowed then schooled his features to hide the hurt. Derek had to steel himself so he wouldn’t be tempted to pull Stiles into a hug and kiss the hurt away.

“Okay. So you don’t want me anymore. I get it.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek said. “I want you. I just can’t have you.”

“Why not?” The kid sounded torn apart and it made Derek hurt inside.

“Your dad has a restraining order in effect against me,” Derek said, starting with the easier explanation.

“It’s not going to keep me away from you,” Stiles said.

Derek sighed. “If you don’t stay at least one hundred feet away from me, Stiles, it counts as a violation. I’ll be arrested and charged for breach of the order.”

“He can’t do that,” Stiles said.

“Yes, he can.”

“But--”

“But what? Is that what you want, Stiles? For me to be arrested? To be charged with statutory rape? Because your dad is pissed off enough to do it. And he has every right to be. You’re sixteen--”

“But I – I wanted it,” Stiles argued.

Derek shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The age of consent in California is eighteen. You know that. In the eyes of the law, you’re a minor and I took advantage of you. And as a teacher, I did it while in a position of trust and authority. It’s my fault, Stiles. I’m the one to blame.”

“No!”

“Yes,” Derek said calmly. It was his fault, his alone. He was the adult. He had known it was wrong to take up with Stiles but he had let his wolf’s need and desire – _his_ need and desire - for Stiles cloud his judgement. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” Derek said. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“No.”

“I need to stay away from you,” Derek said more forcefully. “And you need to stay away from me.”

“No,” Stiles said again. He looked like Derek had just punched him in the gut. And, fuck, it hurt Derek so much to see that – to see Stiles in pain. But this was what had to be done. They couldn’t see each other anymore – no matter how much it hurt.

Stiles stood there for a few moments, looking down at the floor and not at Derek. Then suddenly he turned, yanked open the door, and walked out.

It took every bit of strength Derek had not to go after him.

When Laura got home from work later in the day, she found Derek curled up on the couch in the living room, a complete mess. She sighed heavily and sat down on the couch beside him.

“I hate to have to say I told you so, baby bro,” Laura said. “But I fucking told you so.”

She wrapped her arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him in, cradling his head against her chest, just like she had done when she was sixteen and he was twelve and Jenny Masterson had stomped on his heart the way she had stomped on the valentine Derek had made for her.

“Ain’t love a fucking bitch,” she said softly.

Derek couldn’t help it. He laughed. Because it beat crying in his sister’s arms. Derek was twenty-fucking-six years old and he just couldn’t do that anymore, no matter how much he wanted to.

Stiles would have liked to think he was mature enough to handle being dumped by Derek (okay, so Derek hadn’t exactly dumped him but it amounted to the same fucking thing) but the truth was Stiles was _crushed_. He had anticipated that Derek would push him away and Stiles even understood why he had to do it. But it still fucking hurt. Because he was in love with Derek. And a part of Stiles had hoped that Derek was also in love with him – at least enough to try and figure out a way they could be together. He realized now that he had been a fool to think that.

Derek had told him to stay away. Stiles didn’t want to stay away. He wanted to be with Derek. But he also didn’t want Derek to be arrested and he certainly didn’t want Derek to be charged with statutory rape and sent to jail. There were just too many conflicting emotions that Stiles had to deal with right now. 

The house was empty when he got home and Stiles was glad for it. He didn’t think he could handle another fight with his dad, not when he was hurting this badly. He knew he’d catch hell later for ditching his classes and going to see Derek but for now all Stiles wanted was to close out the world so he could try and forget the hurt.

So he burrowed under the covers of his bed behind a locked bedroom door and did something he hadn’t done since his mom had died - cried himself to sleep.

He saw the way the other kids looked at him, disapproving, casting judgement. But Stiles didn’t care. He had always wanted to be popular. And now he was known as the kid who had fucked his teacher and had gotten him fired. He supposed it was something, even if it meant he was now marked with an invisible scarlet letter. Hell, now even most of the seniors knew his name.

Occasional stares, pointing fingers, whispers and tsks from kids he didn’t even know hardly bothered Stiles. It was the jibs and jabs from his lacrosse teammates he could have done without. 

“So Stilinski,” Greenberg remarked at practice, “You learn much from Hale about stick holding?” He smirked at his own sorry excuse for a pun. 

Stiles sighed, ready to tell Greenberg what a dumbass he was, but before he could respond, Jackson was in Greenberg’s face, smacking the heel of his hand to the kid’s helmet cage. “Shut it,” Jackson commanded and Stiles noted that Danny, Boyd, Isaac and Scott had all moved in to back Jackson up. Say what you will about the group of them, but Stiles had some pretty awesome friends. 

Greenberg wisely retreated. Jackson gave Stiles a nod and Stiles returned it, conveying an unspoken ‘thank you’. Stiles could handle kids like Greenberg – he totally could – but it was nice to know he had friends - even _Jackson_ whom Stiles had thought barely even liked him - who would quickly defend him.

It wasn’t just other students in the school, though. Unfortunately, some of Stiles’ teachers had decided to get in on being petty and judgemental. Like Harris, who already hated Stiles and had obviously been looking for an opportunity to stick it to him. 

Harris had called on Stiles to answer a homework question that, of course, Stiles hadn’t done because he had had other things on his mind the last couple of days. Stiles attempted to muddle through it; despite Harris’ constant claim to the contrary, Stiles wasn’t an idiot and he understood chemistry (he had an A- in the course, for fuck’s sake). But Harris stopped him half way through (a mostly correct answer, Lydia was to tell him later) with a disapproving glare and tsk. “Oh come on, Stilinski,” he sneered. “Surely you can focus on your school work now that Hale’s not around to distract you.”

What a dick. “Fuck you,” Stiles muttered.

Harris narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “What did you just say?”

Stiles met his chemistry teacher’s glare with one of his own. “I said ‘fuck you’.” Stiles heard Scott gasp beside him and was aware that several of his classmates were staring at him, some disapproving, some in awe. 

“You just earned yourself an hour’s detention, Stilinski,” Harris informed him. “And a trip to the principal’s office.”

“Whatever,” Stiles mumbled. Like detention with Harris was something new. And being sent to the principal’s office? Big fucking deal. He knew it would add to his dad’s overall disappointment in him and he felt bad about that. But what was Stiles supposed to do? 

“Asshole,” Scott suddenly blurted, intentionally loud.

“You too, McCall,” Harris called without even turning his back from the chalkboard.

Stiles’ mouth split into a grin. Scott was the _best_ best friend ever.

Derek wallowed in self-pity for nearly a week. Losing his job was disappointing – Derek liked teaching and he especially liked teaching English – but it was nothing compared to the crushing feeling he was currently overwhelmed with over losing Stiles. He missed Stiles. It wasn’t just the sex he missed - although Derek did miss that – he missed _Stiles_. He missed the kid’s constant chatter, his cheeky grin, his excited flailing, the way he practically lit up a five-mile-radius around him. Derek missed the _smell_ of Stiles, the _sounds_ of him, the _feel_ of him, the _taste_ of him.

Eventually, Laura got tired of his wallowing and dragged Derek out from under his covers (and his misery) and insisted Derek look for another job. He was never very good at saying ‘no’ to Laura (and that was just when she was in ‘sister’ mode never mind in ‘alpha’ mode), so Derek pounded the pavement (so to speak) and was able to find work at the local new and used bookstore. Mrs. Robinson didn’t seem to care that Derek had been ‘involved’ with a sixteen year old high school student (or, more likely, she hadn’t heard about it because the elderly woman’s hearing seemed to be on the side of deaf) and she welcomed him warmly, putting him to work immediately. Derek was thankful that at least someone in Beacon Hills was willing to give him a chance.

Two days before the full moon, however, Derek’s wolf became _agitated._

Derek had been able to keep his wolf under control since the nightmare that was Kate Argent and the death of his entire family so it came as somewhat of a surprise that his wolf seemed to be clawing at the surface, wanting to be let out. Derek thought he knew what it was, though. His wolf was _pining_. And it wasn’t the only one.

On the day of the full moon, Derek wore a path on the hardwood floor of his bedroom, pacing. He needed to see Stiles. It was like a burning itch and no matter how much Derek tried to control it, it remained just under the surface, clamouring to be scratched. 

So, in the evening, against his better judgement (and his sister’s warnings), Derek got into his Camaro and drove over to the Stilinski house.

Derek scaled the roof to the second story window which opened to Stiles’ bedroom. He gave it a shove up, climbed over the sill and tumbled inside.

Stiles was lying on his bed, dressed in sleep pants and a t-shirt, listening to music on his ipod. His mouth opened in an ‘O’ when he saw Derek tumble into his room. He yanked out the earbuds, jumping up out of his bed.

“What are you doing here, Derek?” Stiles asked, coming towards him. “If my dad finds out you’re here--”

“I needed to see you,” Derek said.

Stiles goggled at him. “You needed to see me?” he said, looking slightly aggrieved. “Two weeks ago you said you couldn’t do ‘us’ anymore. Told me to stay away from you.”

“I know,” Derek acknowledged. “And I get you’re pissed, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m pissed,” Stiles told him. “Because I want to _be with you_ , Derek. Don’t you get that?” He ran a hand over his buzz cut. “I—you know what? -- _fuck_ \--” 

Stiles suddenly launched himself at Derek, catching Derek’s mouth with his own, kissing frantically, needy. His hands were all over Derek, tugging at the waistband of his jeans, fingers undoing the button and pulling down the zip. Stiles managed to get Derek’s pants down and was now pulling Derek down to the floor of his bedroom, his mouth assaulting Derek’s hotly.

“I missed you,” Stiles breathed against his lips and Derek fucking _whimpered_. 

“Missed you,” Derek returned, feeling heady. This needy but take-charge Stiles was relatively new and, like everything else about the kid, it made Derek feel wild and rather reckless.

The sleep pants Stiles had been wearing had somehow magically disappeared and Stiles must have grabbed the lube from somewhere and had slicked Derek’s cock up while Derek was in a lust-haze because he was now mounting Derek, pushing his hips downward, impaling himself on Derek’s already rock hard cock. Stiles hissed through the burn and pain of being unprepared but it seemed to take only a moment for him to adjust and then he was rocking his hips, hands on Derek’s shoulders, moving himself up and down on Derek’s dick.

Derek had definitely missed this – the feel of Stiles around him, hot and tight, the sound of his breathless moans and pants, the intoxicating taste of his lips and neck, the scent of him that made Derek hotly aroused but also comfortably relaxed and made Stiles feel like _home_. 

Owing to the full moon and his desperate desire, Derek felt his wolf rising to the surface, hungry and wanting. With every thrust up into Stiles, the mating instinct became stronger and stronger. Derek fought to keep the instinct at bay, working toward achieving climax as quickly as possible for both of them. Still, such concerted focus meant that some of the control he normally had over shifting started to slip away and Derek felt his claws coming out and his canines elongating. 

Stiles seemed as desperate as Derek to achieve release, rocking down harder and faster, his hand now on his own cock, stripping it swiftly.

Derek came with a stifled shout, his mouth on Stiles’ neck, fangs grating over his pulse point. He lifted his head absently and caught the surprised look on Stiles’ face, no doubt in reaction to Derek’s now flashing blue eyes and fanged teeth. Surprise quickly morphed into ecstasy as Stiles came and Derek felt the sticky spurt of Stiles’ release hit his stomach, soaking into his t-shirt. 

Panicked at having let his wolf show, Derek shoved Stiles up and off his lap, effectively dumping him onto the carpet. He stood quickly, keeping his head down and gaze averted, pulling at his jeans to yank them up. 

Stiles could feel the hot spunk dripping out of him and spilling onto the carpet but he was helpless to do anything but stare at Derek who was pulling up his jeans and tucking himself back in. Holy God, were those _claws_? Derek wouldn’t look at Stiles – his head was turned away – but Stiles was certain he hadn’t imagined flashing blue eyes instead of green ones just a moment ago and _fangs_. What the fuck?

Stiles opened his mouth to say something – he was struggling to find his voice – but Derek was at and then out the window before any sound could come out.

Stiles sat on his carpeted floor, staring at the window for a full ten minutes before the cooling puddle of come became uncomfortable enough to force him to get up and clean himself.

Stiles spent all of the next day on his computer and at the library, trying to sort it out.

_Green eyes to glowing blue._

_Fangs._

_Claws._

_Occasional Growling._

_Full Moon._

In the end, it seemed absolutely incredible, ridiculous even, but Stiles’ research added up and pointed to only one very distinct possibility.

In retrospect, Stiles thought, it actually explained a number of things but he was really only concerned with one thing – and for that, he needed to talk to Derek.

This time when Laura Hale answered the door, Stiles wasn’t afraid of her. Well, maybe he was a little afraid of her – she was still terrifying – but he thought he might now actually get where she was coming from. And why her eyes had looked red the last time.

“He’s in his room,” Laura said, sweeping her hand toward the staircase. 

Stiles took that as a positive sign and began climbing the stairs, making his way toward Derek’s bedroom. He knocked twice on the door before pushing it open, not willing to give Derek an opportunity to refuse to see him.

Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking as though he had been waiting for Stiles. Stiles made a note of it, wondering if special sensing powers came with _the thing_ he was here to discuss.

He closed the door quietly, leaning back against it, and spent a full minute just looking at Derek. 

“So, what are you?” Stiles finally asked, telling himself he would not be afraid of the answer.

Two beats went by before Derek answered. “I’m a werewolf.”

Okay, so Stiles had guessed correctly. Still, it was a bit much to take in. “Like turn into a wolf on a full moon kind of thing?” he asked, just for clarification.

“Not exactly,” Derek said and stood, moving toward Stiles. “But close.”

Stiles watched as Derek’s features suddenly shifted. Ears extending into points, sideburns filling in, ridges coming out on forehead, eyebrows disappearing. Noticeable fangs, hazel-green eyes turning a glowing blue and definite claws. 

“Holy God,” Stiles expressed, feeling both a little awed and slightly terrified. The guy he was in love with was actually a freaking werewolf. Like claws and fangs and everything. 

Then just as suddenly, Derek’s features returned to normal. “So, you can shift in and out of werewolf mode whenever you want?” Stiles asked, enthralled. 

Derek shrugged. “Most of the time,” he said. “Though shifting can sometimes be harder to control during a full moon.”

“Like the other night?”

Derek nodded. “Like the other night.” Stiles noticed that Derek had stopped moving and stood a good three feet away from him, as though he was afraid of getting too close to Stiles.

“And what about this thing between us?” Stiles asked.

Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise, as though Stiles’ question was not what he had been expecting. He seemed to consider for a moment then said candidly, “My wolf wants you. It thinks you’re ours...our mate.”

Wow. That wasn’t what _Stiles_ had been expecting. Derek’s wolf thought Stiles was its – their - _> mate_? He wasn’t sure what that even meant. And weren’t Derek and his wolf the same? Or was Stiles missing something? “What about you?” he ventured to ask. “What do you want?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Derek said. 

“The _hell_ it doesn’t,” Stiles expressed emphatically, pushing off the door now and moving closer to Derek. “I appreciate being caught up to speed on the whole wolf thing, but I want to know what _you_ want, Derek.”

Derek looked conflicted, like he didn’t trust himself to answer, the internal battle playing out on his face. He pushed a hand through his hair, darting his glance between the floor and Stiles. Then finally, “I--I want _you_ , Stiles. I want you. Even if my wolf didn’t feel the mating instinct so strongly, I’d still fucking want you.”

Okay, now they were getting somewhere. “Mating instinct?” Stiles asked, the beat of his heart picking up speed. 

Derek sighed and moved a step closer to Stiles. “The desire to claim, to possess,” he explained. “To...tie us together and make you completely ours. Mine.”

Stiles swallowed. “Then tie us together, Derek,” he said simply. “Mate me.” 

“I—I can’t.”

“Why not?” Stiles asked. “You don’t want to?” 

“ _Yes_. I want to.” 

“Then why--?”

“Dammit, Stiles! You’re only sixteen!”

“So? What, I’m good enough to fuck senseless but not good enough to claim as a mate?” Stiles tried not to sound too hurt by this, but he _was_ hurt by it, goddammit. 

“You don’t understand, Stiles.”

“Then explain it to me,” Stiles said patiently. There was no way he was going to let Derek out of this one. He had to know.

Derek blew out a sigh. “Look,” he said. “I can accept that you’re probably it for me, that there’s never going be anyone else. But you? You’re still so young, Stiles. It’s way too much of a commitment to ask you to be my mate. You’ve still got so many things in your life to experience, Stiles. Like falling in love and--”

“I’m already in love,” Stiles protested. Didn’t Derek know how much Stiles loved him?

“I know you _think_ what you feel for me is love--”

“I don’t _think_ ,” Stiles said strongly. “I _know_. I want you, Derek. I love you. I want to be your mate.”

“Stiles...”

“I’m not a kid,” he told him. “I know what I want. I want you. Please don’t push me away because you think I’m too young to know what I want. Please, Derek. Please.”

It was that moment that Derek seemed to cave in. In a matter of seconds, he had Stiles pushed up against the back of his bedroom door, Stiles’ body hitched up and legs wrapped around his waist, their mouths slotted together hotly.

“Derek, Derek, Derek,” Stiles murmured against his lips. “God, Derek, _please_. Fucking mate me.”

“Mating is different,” Derek whispered. “Tying us together means knotting...”

“Knotting?” Stiles asked the question even though he didn’t really care what the answer was. Stiles wanted Derek to mate him. He wanted to be tied to Derek forever.

“It’s a thing that happens during sex,” Derek explained. “My cock swells, filling you completely so that physically we’re tied to each other.”

“But that didn’t happen before,” Stiles said. He was sure he would have remembered that happening. 

“I can control it,” Derek replied. “I wouldn’t have let it happen before because I didn’t think you were ready.” 

“I’m ready,” Stiles told him, moaning as Derek sucked at the skin on his neck. “I want that. Please. I want you to knot me.”

Derek groaned and sucked kisses all over Stiles’ neck then went about licking over the patches of bruising skin with his tongue. “Fuck, kid, I love you,” Derek breathed against his neck.

It was what Stiles had been waiting to hear.

“I want you so fucking much,” Derek continued, now nipping at his collarbone. “It was absolute torture being away from you. God, Stiles. I need you.”

And that.

He buried his hands in Derek’s hair, dragging his head up so that he could fit their mouths and slide their tongues back together. “Mate me now, Derek,” Stiles commanded, needy.

It suddenly became clear to Derek that there was nothing Stiles could ask that Derek wouldn’t give to him. The kid could ask him to swallow fucking wolfsbane and Derek would do it without a second thought.

He carried Stiles over to his bed, tugging at his clothing as he went. Stiles was doing some tugging of his own and they ended up naked in record time. Then Derek was positioning Stiles on his hands and knees at the edge of the bed, settling in behind him, and working him open with three lube-slicked fingers. Usually, Stiles could take him with little preparation but Derek was worried that his swelled up cock would hurt Stiles so he wanted to stretch him out as much as possible before plunging in.

When Stiles whined to “just get on with it already”, Derek removed his fingers and filled Stiles with his hard and aching cock instead. He set a pace and rhythm like he usually did but didn’t bother trying to maintain control, letting his wolf’s mating instinct guide him.

Derek felt his cock starting to swell just as he teetered on the edge of oblivion. Stiles was making strangled noises, a mix of moaning pleasure and cries of pain, and Derek almost pulled out completely before the swelling prevented him from doing so, worried that he was hurting Stiles. But Stiles tapped his leg, saying “I’m okay. Oh _God_ , that feels good.”

Derek erupted when his cock swelled to maximum inside Stiles, releasing a spurt of come that seemed to be never-ending. He shook off the aftershocks of his orgasm quickly, reached around and palmed Stiles’ cock, jerking him to release. It didn’t take long before Stiles’ hips hitched then stilled and he shot wildly all over Derek’s hand and bed covers. 

He let Stiles catch his breath then he laid them down carefully on the bed, Derek’s swelled up cock still deep inside Stiles, knotting them together. Derek let himself indulge, listening to Stiles just _breathe_ , focusing on the sound of his heartbeat as it slowed down bit by bit. 

“How long does...how long are we tied together like this?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know,” Derek told him honestly. “I’ve never knotted anyone before.”

“Oh my God, I love you,” Stiles expressed, twisting his head to kiss Derek before snuggling further into him. “I can’t believe I’m the first.”

Stiles sounded like he was in awe and Derek wrapped his arms tighter around the boy, brushing his lips against his temple. “Mmmloveyou,” he murmured contently.

“I wish I could stay tied to you like this forever.”

Fuck, did Derek ever love this kid.

In the end, they stayed tied together for thirty-six minutes. Then the swelling of his knot went down making Derek able to pull out and he did so very gently. Stiles _whined_ at the loss then turned and buried his face into Derek’s chest and shoulder, seeming to be uncaring that Derek had left a voluminous mess of spunk inside him. 

Derek held him close and within a minute, Stiles was asleep. Within two, so was Derek.

Victoria Argent was quick to zero in on them as they approached the stands, looking for a seat.

She immediately stood, looking like she was going to protest but Sheriff Stilinski clapped Derek on the shoulder and said, “He’s with me.”

Argent levelled a cool gaze at Derek but she sat back down on the bench and let Derek by to follow the sheriff.

He ignored the looks some of the students (and, God, _parents_ ) were giving him as he climbed the bleachers with Stiles’ dad and took a seat. They could think whatever they wanted. Derek was there to support Stiles – his mate (Derek liked the sound of this much better than ‘boyfriend’ even if it was a term only he and Stiles could share for the moment) – although it was probably unlikely that the kid was going to see any game time.

McCall tapped Stiles on the shoulder and pointed to Derek and the sheriff in the stands. Stiles looked surprised but gave them a wave and Derek heard him mumble “oh my God, Derek and my dad” as he took his usual seat on the bench. 

Stiles’ trio of girl friends - Erica, Lydia and Allison – were two bleachers down from them. They smiled and waved at Derek and he returned their warm greeting with a wave of his own, doing his best to ignore the stern gaze of Principal Argent, a few of the teachers, and some of the parents.

“Just ignore them,” Stiles’ dad said, as if he knew what Derek was thinking. “And enjoy the game.”

Derek wondered, and not for the first time, if this was Sheriff Stilinski’s test – to see how well Derek could handle himself in the face of public scrutiny. But he had already had an intense and somewhat awkward three hour conversation with Stiles’ dad in which Derek had had to convince the sheriff that he was in love with his sixteen year old son and was not just some lust-addled pedophile pervert. So he could definitely pass this test. 

The first three quarters of the game saw the Beacon Hills team trailing behind the other team by two points and Stiles warming his (albeit, very fine) ass on the bench. In the fourth quarter, however, Coach leaned in to say something to Stiles. 

Derek’s werewolf hearing easily picked up the conversation.

“Get ready,” Coach said, handing Stiles his head gear.

“What?”

“What?” Finstock parroted. “You think I had Hale working with you all that time for my own amusement? You’re my secret weapon, Stilinski,” he told Stiles. “Get your ass out there. I guarantee those bastards won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“He’s gonna play,” Derek said a second before Stiles turned on the bench and mouthed to his dad and Derek, “I’m playing.”

Derek and the sheriff both gave him a thumbs up. 

Coach Finstock’s brief pep-talk must have boosted Stiles’ confidence because he was quick and graceful on his feet and his passes were controlled and smooth. Derek watched, proud, as Stiles assisted Scott and then Jackson in scoring goals to tie the game. 

“You teach him those moves?” asked the sheriff.

Derek nodded. “Yeah.”

The sheriff looked impressed.

In the end, it was Isaac who scored the winning goal. Stiles was rewarded for his part in the victory, though, with slaps to the back and butt (Derek did not growl) by his teammates, while the other team simply stared at him with stunned expressions. Coach had been right – they hadn’t been prepared for the all-season-long bench-warmer to pull off those impressive plays to help win the game. Derek had to admit Finstock was a hell of a strategist, even if he was weird as shit.

Stiles disentangled himself from this teammates, loping over to where his dad and Derek were coming down from the bleachers. 

“We won!” he said unnecessarily.

“You did,” his dad said, grinning. He put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Those were some impressive moves. Great job, son.” 

“You brought Derek,” Stiles said.

His dad shrugged. “Thought we could use a little bonding time.”

The sheriff pulled Stiles to the side, obviously wanting to say something to him in private. Of course, with Derek’s werewolf hearing the conversation wouldn’t be as private as his dad probably hoped. 

“Look,” his dad said, his face serious. “I can’t say I’m ready to fully endorse this relationship between you and Hale. But I get how you feel about him. And I get how he feels about you. So maybe we can start there and...?”

“Yeah, dad,” Stiles said, grinning. It was the most he could hope for right now.

His dad nodded then ambled toward Coach Finstock. Not capable of waiting even another second, Stiles moved close to Derek, wrapped his arms around him, and pressed his mouth to Derek’s, not giving one damn that he was kissing Derek (and maybe feeling him up a little) on the lacrosse field in front of his dad, his teammates, a bunch of Beacon Hills students, some parents and Principal Argent. Derek was his mate and Stiles was not going to let anything come between them. Ever.

The kiss elicited whistles (Jackson and Erica), gushing (Allison and Lydia), open-mouthed appreciation (Danny), expression of ‘get a room’ (Greenberg), a few gasps (parents and teachers), grunts of support (Boyd and Isaac), an awkward cough (Scott), and a stern admonition of ‘I want him home by midnight, Derek’ (his dad). Stiles swore he could even hear the glare Victoria Argent was directing at them.

Derek chuckled against his lips. “Maybe we should move this to your Jeep?” he suggested.

“Oh, absolutely,” Stiles agreed.

He threaded his fingers through Derek’s and led him out to the parking lot to his Jeep, giving a quick wave to his dad and to his friends.

They spent the next two and a half hours making out in Stiles’ Jeep - making out consisting of having fantastically awesome sex not once but twice (without knotting, of course, because they didn’t have time for that). 

Needless to say, Derek made damn sure Stiles made it home on time – even if it was just by a tick at a minute and a half to midnight.


End file.
